Lamentation In The Veil
by Clowns or Midgets
Summary: Heaven and Hell are shut tight and Sam's finding that death is not necessarily the end anymore. Post S9 AU. Sequel to Howling At The Moon
1. Chapter 1

**This is a continuation of/sequel for Howling At The Moon. If you haven't read that, you might find this a little confusing. If you don't **_**want**_ **to read it, but want to read this story, drop me a PM and I'll summarize HATM for you. **

**So… I told you I knew what happened next, right? Though knew what would happen, I never thought I'd actually end up writing it, but with the encouragement of some amazing friends, I started writing again and found that I **_**wanted**_** to tell this story. Hope you enjoy…**

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_**Chapter One**_

Castiel had thought he would manage Sam's death better that he had Dean's death and following corruption into a demon, as he was better prepared. Sam had shared his plan to close hell in the process of curing Dean after only a few weeks into their search. Castiel hadn't believed it was a real possibility at the time, as he'd not thought they would ever be able to track Dean down. Even when they had found him and managed to wrest him into that chapel, he'd still not thought Sam would do it. He was sure that when he saw his brother human again, he would want to be with him more than he wanted to close Hell. He was wrong. He'd had a moment in which he'd thought to stop Sam, but he couldn't do it. Sam had given so much for the world before, and his choices had been denied him by Lucifer and Michael and his brother, that he had to allow him to make this decision himself. Knowing he'd given Sam the choice didn't temper the pain of loss now. Sam was gone and that hurt Castiel.

* * *

Dean slammed the bunker door, almost in Castiel's face, and jogged down the stairs with two duffels slung over his shoulder. Castiel thought his haste was an attempt to outrun him, and he wondered for a moment whether he should leave Dean alone for a while, but he thought better of it. He knew Dean needed him now as much as Sam had for the last two months of searching for Dean, though for very different reasons; the difference was that Sam could articulate that need and thank Castiel for his presence—as he had done almost every day. Dean would not be able to find those words, lost in grief as he was.

Dean dropped the duffels down on the large table in the center of the room and scrubbed a hand over his face. Castiel wondered if he was trying to wipe away the phantom tears that had ceased falling a while ago. He had cried as he'd held his brother's body in that church. He'd cried as he'd argued with Castiel, refusing to follow Sam's wishes by giving him a hunter's funeral. He had cried as he'd dug the grave. He'd cried as he'd laid his brother to rest. He'd cried as he drove home. Now his tears were spent and he was left hollow in his grief.

He crossed to the cabinet at the side of the room and picked up a glass. He filled it almost to the brim with whiskey and gulped at it, gasping as it burned his soft, mortal throat. He turned and locked eyes with Castiel, his eyebrows lifting slightly as if shocked he was still there. "Want some?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Castiel shook his head and made his steady path down the stairs and into the room. There was not enough liquor in this place to impact him, so there would be no point in him drinking. Besides, he had never learned to like the taste the way Dean had. Sam hadn't enjoyed the taste either. On the odd times during their search that Sam had despaired and become drunk, he had grimaced with every swallow. He hadn't been drinking for pleasure; he'd been drinking to drown his sorrow.

"Your loss." Dean picked up the bottle and moved to sit at the table, then he faltered and swayed on his feet.

Spread across the end of the table was a stack of maps and papers, all marked with crosses and notes, notes that Sam had made. It was the detritus of their search for Dean. Castiel hurried forward and picked them up, but Dean caught his arm. Castiel wondered if it was the memory of his brother or the memory of what he had been that made him look so desperately sad.

"Don't," he said in a cracked voice.

For a moment, Castiel thought Dean was going to preserve the papers, leaving them as Sam had left them when he had been alive. Then Dean swept his arm across the table, sending the papers flying through the air to land on the floor.

"Dammit, Sam!" he shouted then his voice dropped to a whisper. "Why?"

Castiel knew the answer to that as well as Dean did. Sam had to do it because it was the right thing. Countless lives would be saved by his sacrifice. He could hear the angels talking already. People that had been possessed were coming back to themselves now, as the demons left them. Some had died, but many more had lived. Hell was closed, and that was because of Sam. That was worth a life.

Dean gripped the edge of the table and bowed over, his shoulders shaking. Castiel placed a hand on he shoulder and was gratified when he didn't shake it off.

"What am I going to do, Cas?" he asked.

Castiel had no answers. He couldn't tell Dean what to do, as he didn't know himself. He had no words that would lessen the pain for either of them. Though Sam had made a great sacrifice and saved the world from terrible evil, he was gone, and that was painful for them both.

Dean stepped out from under Castiel's hand and picked up the whiskey again. He didn't bother with a glass this time; he drank from the bottle, gulping it down.

Castiel could see how this would end as clearly as if it was mapped out for him. Dean would drink himself into unconsciousness, and he would wake and repeat the action all over again. That was how it had been for the first month after Sam had thrown himself into the cage. Castiel had watched him, silent and invisible, as he'd drowned himself in liquor, not caring for Lisa's comforting words. It hadn't lasted forever; after a while, Dean had slowed his descent and found comfort in the Lisa and Ben. He hoped that it wouldn't last forever this time, too, though he wondered. Dean was not only dealing with the pain of losing his brother; he had the horror of his demonic actions to contend with. Castiel wondered if that would kill him in the end.

He acted without thinking, gripping Dean's shoulder as he pressed two fingers to Dean's temple. He collapsed against him and Castiel drew his arm over his shoulder to support him.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said sincerely. He was sorry that he had stolen Dean's will in this, but he couldn't bear to watch him suffering anymore if he had a way of stopping, even if only for a while.

He carried Dean through the halls of the bunker to his bedroom and settled him down on the bed. Dean shifted and groaned as Castiel tugged off his boots and draped a blanket over him. He knew Dean would be angry when he woke, but he would deal with that later. For now, Dean was at peace, and for that, he was grateful.

He turned away from the bed and made his way back out into the hall. The door beside Dean's caught his eye. Castiel knew whose room that was, though he had never been inside. He had always left that place as Sam's personal retreat on the rare occasions he had persuaded him to rest when they'd been at the bunker while Dean was gone. He was curious now though, and perhaps a little something more. The pain of Sam's loss was especially poignant in this place of so many memories. He wanted something to connect him to the fallen hunter. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The bed was neatly made and there were clothes folded tidily on a chair, but other than that there was no sign that this room belonged to someone. There were none of the homey signs that there were in Dean's room: no photo of their mother on the bedside table, no weapons cleaned and polished on the wall. It had less personality than the motel rooms the brothers had spent their lives in. Sam had, Castiel knew, spent more than a year living in this place, and yet there was no sign of his personality here. Had it always been like this, or had Sam cleared the room before they had set out from the bunker for the last time, armed with Dean's location and a plan?

Castiel sighed heavily, laden with sadness, and left the room. He clicked the door closed gently behind him and turned only to stop dead in his tracks at what he saw. Someone was standing behind him.

The figure was tall and broad, and his arms were crossed over his chest. As Castiel concentrated, he became clearer, and his suspicions were confirmed. He blinked and resisted the urge to rub at his eyes. He knew who this was.

"Sam?"

Sam smiled slightly. "Hey, Cas."

* * *

Death was supposed to be the end. If the world were as it should be, Sam would have been finished with his last mission the moment he recited the enochian spell. But the world was not as it should be. It was wrong, and so Sam was trapped.

He'd almost been expecting Death to be waiting for him after he _finally_ finished the last trial, ready and able to sneak him past the gates and into Heaven, but he wasn't there. No one was. He came back to awareness in the cavernous room of the bunker and he was alone. Only for a moment though. The door swung open and his brother trudged in. Grief had etched deep lines into Dean's face and his eyes were dark with shadows. Sam wasn't sure how long had passed since his death, time was hard to track in the veil, but it had to have been at least a day as that was how long it would have taken Dean to drive back from the chapel.

"Dean," Sam sighed.

He had no expectation that Dean would be able to see him or hear him, but it still hurt his heart when he came down the stairs and walked right past him without a second glance. Sam was essentially a newborn as a ghost. He would not be able to manifest to be seen for a while yet. He looked hopefully at Castiel, but the angel didn't seem able to see him either. His family were oblivious to his presence.

Dean poured himself a drink and gulped it down, and Sam was reminded irresistibly of himself doing the same thing after he had laid his brother's corpse down on his bed. He hated that Dean was turning to alcohol again, but he understood it.

He watched as Dean offered Castiel a drink and then noticed the pile of papers on the table. Sam should have taken more care to remove them before he'd left the bunker for the last time. Dean didn't need the reminder of what he'd been and how they'd tracked him using demon signs. Dean swept them from the table with a shout. When Dean bowed over the table and sobbed tearlessly, Sam moved to stand beside him. His hand twitched, wanting to rest on his brother's shoulder in comfort, but he didn't have the mojo to do something like that yet. It was going to take a lot of practice. He couldn't touch Dean, but Castiel could, and he did, moving to stand beside him and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"What am I going to do, Cas?" Dean asked and Sam felt his heart break all over again.

"You'll be fine, Dean," Sam said, though no one could hear him. "You're going to be just fine."

Dean reached for the whiskey again and gulped it down. Castiel acted swiftly, pressing his fingers to Dean's temple he sent him into unconsciousness.

Sam smiled slightly. He knew Dean would be furious about it in the morning, but for now at least, he would have a little peace.

Castiel carried Dean through the halls to their bedrooms, and he deposited Dean on his bed. Sam was pleased that he thought to cover him and take off his boots, both things Sam would have done had he been able. Leaving Dean asleep, Castiel moved back into the hall and then into Sam's room.

Sam would have given almost anything to be able to read Castiel's mind as he looked around the room. He wanted to know what it was that had etched such deep lines into his brow.

He turned away and waited in the hall for Castiel to join him again, wondering how Castiel would pass the night while Dean slept. Castiel came out of the room, and if anything, he looked more wrecked than he did before. Sam wished there was something he could say, some way to help Castiel, but he had no expectation that even Castiel would be able to see him, that was until Castiel turned to face him. His eyes bugged and he spoke Sam's name in a shocked whisper.

Sam's astonishment that Castiel could see him lasted a second, and then he accepted it as fact. Castiel was an angel after all. He _should _be able to see him.

"Hey, Cas."

"But… How…?" In all the years Sam had known Castiel, he had never seen him at a loss for words, but now he had.

Sam smiled and raised his arms at his sides. "Heaven's closed. Hell's closed. What's a guy to do?" He was being deliberately lighthearted about the crap-storm of a situation he'd found himself in, hoping to make it a little easier for Castiel.

"Sam?"

Sam huffed a laugh at the ludicrousness that was an angel at a loss. "Yeah. It's me."

"I can't believe it," Castiel breathed.

"Neither could I at first, but here I am." Sam looked at the door that hid his brother from him and smiled slightly. "Thanks for taking care of him."

"I don't know how well I have done that," Castiel said. "He is inconsolable." Something in his eyes brightened and he made for the door to Dean's room. It didn't take much to work out what he was planning.

"You can't tell him," Sam said firmly.

Castiel frowned. "Why not?"

Sam walked a few feet down the hall and came to stand in front of Dean's room. He lifted a hand and held it out, as if about to rest it on the wood, then it dropped back to his side. "He's sleeping, Cas."

"But not resting. He will not rest peacefully now, Sam."

Sam stared at the door and a wave of longing swept through him. He wished it was his brother talking to him. "Maybe not, but do you think knowing I'm still here is going to help that? He's exhausted and overwrought. He's been through so much lately, too much. Let him sleep while he can. We'll deal with the rest in the morning."

"Okay."

"Good," Sam said, tone full of satisfaction.

"What are you going to do now?"

Sam shrugged. "Way I see it, I'm trapped here for now. Best-case scenario, I've still got my ticket upstairs, so I've got to wait till the gates are open again to move on. I'm going to help you work the case as much as I can. I know the basics of ghostly life from that time me and Dean went after the reaper seal. It's going to take some practice, but it's not like I'm short on time. Give me a few days and I'll be set to join the party."

"Sam," Castiel said slowly. "Did you know this would happen?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Heaven and Hell are closed for business. We knew that already. How did you not?"

Castiel looked momentarily stunned, as if asking himself the same question. Then he bowed his head. "Sam, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Castiel had nothing to apologize for to Sam's mind. He had given everything, abandoned his own fight to help Sam find and save Dean. Sam owed him more than he could ever say.

"For letting you die," Castiel said, looking into his eye with an expression that begged for understanding. "For not being powerful enough to bring you back."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, 'cause that was all your fault. I knew when I went into this that you didn't have the juice to bring me back. That's fine. Besides, it's too late for regrets now anyway. I'm charcoal, right."

Castiel looked pointedly at the floor.

Fear gripped Sam. "Cas… Tell me you burned me." There was a note of pleading in his voice.

Castiel seemed to force himself to look up at Sam to meet his eyes. "I am sorry, Sam."

Sam's fisted hands covered his eyes. "Dammit, Cas! What the hell!"

"I am sorry," he said again. "Dean was determined. We buried you beside that church."

"Awesome," Sam said sarcastically. "That's just… awesome."

Everything he had wanted and hoped for was gone. He was supposed to be salted and burned, out of his brother's reach. He hadn't been suicidal when he finished the trial, he still wasn't now, but he was satisfied with the results of his life. It was supposed to be over. Now, Dean had a loophole to bring him back, and Sam didn't want that; he didn't want his brother's focus split. He wanted his mind focused on the task of opening Heaven and helping Castiel find his grace; they owed him that. He had given up everything to help them time and time again. It was their turn now.

"Okay," he said eventually. "This isn't a disaster. We can still make it work…"

He dropped his voice to a whisper, though why he bothered he didn't know, and told Castiel his plan.

* * *

**So… Hands up if you can guess Sam's plan. Of course, it's not going to work, but bless him, he's going to try. **

**This isn't like my other stories in the fact I haven't waited until it completely written before posting. I don't know about you guys, but I am craving any kind of Post Season 9 fic. I will update as often as I can, but can't guarantee and once a week schedule the way I do my other stories. **

**Also, as this is a post-as-I-go story, I can take on ideas and critique to make it better. If you enjoyed it, let me know. If you hated it, let me know. I am open to all feedback as long as you're not flaming for the sake of it. No one likes that. **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **

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**I have just posted the first one-shot of a verse called The Sound Of Silence. If you're interested, it can be found on my profile page. **

**Summary: **_Sam risked everything by going back into the burning house, including his life, but he never thought this would be the price. Post Salvation AU.  
_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

For a second after waking, a whole glorious second, Dean forgot what had happened. He rolled over and groaned as he buried his face in the pillow, wondering what the time was and if he could get a few more hours in before Sam came to wake him. Then he noted the sick weight in his gut and he remembered with a flash of images. _Sam in the chapel. Sam falling. Dean trapped, unable to soften his descent to the floor. Sam in his arms. Sam in the ground. Sam dead. _His groan became a sob and he forced his face deeper into the pillow, as if he could disappear from the world if he just tried hard enough.

"Dean," a soft voice said. "I need to talk to you."

Dean raised his head and glared at the angel standing in his doorway. "You knocked me out!" he accused.

Castiel nodded serenely. "I did."

There was no apology in his tone and that made Dean angrier. "Don't you _ever _do that again."

"I will make no promises."

Dean rolled over and got out of bed. He padded in his socked feet across the room, noticing that his boots were gone. As he had been unconscious at the time, it meant Castiel had done it, and wasn't that just creepy.

He shoved his way past Castiel and walked through the hall to the main room of the bunker. He heard footsteps following him and knew Castiel was on his tail, wanting to talk about whatever had his panties in a bunch. Dean honestly couldn't care less what it was he wanted. He had a clear plan: to drink himself into unconsciousness and then to start all over again when he woke up. He needed the liquor to blot out the feelings that were coursing through him, making it hard to breathe. His brother was gone and it was tearing him apart.

"I need to speak to you," Castiel said again.

"Hard luck," Dean said, turning away from the angel. "I'm not in the mood for a heart to heart or, even worse, a lecture."

"I don't care," Castiel said. "This is what's best for him."

Dean's eyebrows rose and he turned back to face Castiel. He was looking to his right and his brow was furrowed. "What the hell? Best for who?"

"For you." Castiel locked eyes on him. "There is something you need to know." He shuddered and turned to the side again. "Well, I disagree!"

This was a new facet in Castiel's usually erratic behavior. He reminded Dean of how he had been after sucking Sam's hallucinations into himself—more than a little cracked.

"Cas, what's going on?"

Castiel stiffened. "This will help him!"

"Hey!" Dean crossed the room and snapped his fingers in front of Castiel's face. "Are you chatting on Angel Radio right now? 'Cause if you are, you can go somewhere else to do it. I don't need to see you playing Girl Interrupted. In case you didn't notice, Cas, I've got enough of my own crap to deal with."

Castiel sighed heavily. "It is that crap that I am trying to help you with. You need to listen to me."

"And you need to stop talking to the voices in your head," Dean said. "I'm not in the mood to deal with Crazy Cas again. Had enough of that shit last time."

Castiel looked a little hurt and then he shuddered as if an invisible someone had just shouted in his ear. If Dean was not so bogged down in grief and anger, he would have been amused. As it was, he just wanted Castiel to take his crap somewhere else and leave him alone.

"You should probably sit down," Castiel advised. "I need to speak to you, and this will be something of a shock."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, Cas, I know you've been on Team Winchester lately and I owe you, but I'm not in the mood to deal with your angel crap. My plate's kinda full of dead brother right now."

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. The gesture was so familiar it pierced Dean's heart like a knife. It was a Sam mannerism, usually saved for when he thought Dean was being especially annoying. Dean wondered when Castiel had picked it up.

Dean picked up a glass and reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table. If Castiel insisted on talking about this, whatever _this_ was, he needed alcohol in him to face it. His fingers curled around the bottle, but the moment they did, the glass was wrenched out of his other hand and thrown against the wall. It smashed and the pieces landed with soft tinkles.

"What the hell, Cas!" Dean growled. He looked up, expecting to see the angel standing beside him, but he wasn't there. He was standing on the opposite side of the table. The only difference was that he now looked a little amused.

His eyes fixed on a spot a foot from Dean and he said, "Was it necessary to break the glass?" He nodded. "I suppose you're right."

Dean's irritation rose. Not only was Castiel interfering with his plan to get drunk fast, he was screwing around with the voices in his head at the same time. He wondered if this was a part of Castiel's stolen grace. Was it slowly making him unhinged?

"New rule," Dean said through gritted teeth. "No smashing anything in here with your freaky angel powers if you want to stay."

"I didn't do it. It wasn't me." He turned to the side. "I _am _doing the right thing, which is more than I can say for you." He focused on Dean again. "Please sit down and listen to me. I need to tell you something and you're both making it difficult."

"We're_both _making it difficult? Hate to break it to you, Cas, but you and me are the only ones here. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real."

"If only." Castiel sat down at the table and waited in silence for Dean to join him.

Dean knew he wasn't going to get rid of Castiel until he'd heard whatever it was the angel thought was so important, so he pulled out a chair and sat down. "Fine," he said in a tone of forced patience. "What's going on, Cas?"

"I am sorry," Castiel said, not speaking to Dean, "but he needs to know." He fell silent for a moment. "Yes, but your plan was stupid."

"Cas!" Dean barked. "You've got ten seconds to tell me what the hell's going on before I'm outta here."

Castiel stiffened and spoke in a rush. "Sam is still here."

Castiel had lost his mind. He'd been through too much, with Dean becoming a demon and his stolen grace and Sam dying. He had lost touch with reality. How the hell did you help a crazy angel? It had taken being zapped into Purgatory to make him snap back to himself last time.

"Cas, man, you need help," he said.

"I'm not crazy," Castiel said irritably. "I am telling you the truth."

"Cas," Dean said sadly. "He's not here. He died." Even saying the words tore at Dean. He couldn't say his brother's name, perhaps never again. It just hurt too much.

Castiel huffed out a breath. "Yes, he died, but he is still here." He looked at a spot above Dean's head. "I can see that! But how do I show him? Ignoring me now? That's very mature, Sam."

"Let me get this straight," Dean said slowly. "You're seeing him now?"

Castiel looked at him as if he was being very stupid. "Of course, I see him. I am an angel."

Angel or batshit crazy, Dean thought. He knew which one he believed. The worst part was that he'd seen this before. His brother had gone down that particular rabbit hole with Lucifer in his head, and it had nearly killed him.

Castiel leaned forward. "Dean, Sam is here. I am not crazy. He is a ghost."

Dean rocked back on his chair and sucked in a breath. He couldn't be! "You're lying," he said in a small voice.

"I wish I was. Think, Dean. Heaven is closed. Hell is closed. Where is Sam supposed to go but here?"

"No!" Dean groaned, bowing over the table. "No! No! No! No!"

It was supposed to be over. He was supposed to be at peace. He'd closed Hell. Heaven was his reward, not being stuck as a ghost in this crap-storm of a world. He couldn't bear the thought. It physically hurt him, but he knew it was the truth. The veil was the only place to go, they knew that from Kevin. Why hadn't he realized sooner?

He didn't know he asked the question aloud until Castiel answered him. "I didn't realize either. The only one that knew was Sam, and I suppose he thought it was worth it."

"Is he here now?" Dean asked. "I mean, can you hear him?"

Castiel smiled. "Yes, Dean. Why else would I be having conversations with myself?"

"Sammy?" He felt something on his shoulder, like a whisper of a touch. It lasted only a moment before it disappeared, but he was sure he'd felt it.

"That is him," Castiel confirmed. "He is here."

"Oh god, Sammy." Dean fell forward onto the table and cried, feeling soft brushes of touch like a bird's wings on his shoulder.

* * *

Sam turned to Castiel, frustration etched in his features. "_This_, Castiel! This is why you shouldn't have told him."

"He deserved to know."

Dean stayed bowed over with his head on his arms, crying like his heart was breaking. Sam had never seen him lose control like this, and he never thought he would see it in front of other people.

"Yeah, 'cause knowing's doing him the power of good," Sam snapped, patting Dean's shoulder gently. It was taking all his focus to make the touches. It had been a long time since he and Dean had been incorporeal and it wasn't as if he'd been able to practice much in the years between. He'd spent the night moving a glass back and forth across a table. It was exhausting, which in itself was annoying. He was dead now; he wasn't supposed to be able to get tired. So far, being a ghost sucked.

His plan had been simple. Castiel was supposed to keep his ever-flapping mouth shut and let Dean become accustomed to Sam's death before he found out the truth, if he ever did. Sam had argued with all he had, but Castiel was determined. As impressed as he was by the angel's dedication to Dean, he was pissed that it manifested this way. Surely he'd earned the ability to control when Dean found out. He had just died for the world after all. Again.

After a long time, Dean raised his head and looked at Castiel through bleary eyes. "Is he okay? He's not in pain, right?"

Sam rolled his eyes. He was dead. Nothing was painful now. "Tell him I'm fine," he instructed Castiel.

Castiel repeated the words and Dean's face twisted with regret. "Why can't I see him too?" he asked.

"Because you are an angel and he's a human," Sam said. "Dumbass."

"Because I am an angel," Castiel said. "Sam has not yet built the strength to manifest physically."

"He hasn't?"

Sam laughed. "Dude, I've been a ghost for two days. I know you like to think I'm an overachiever, but even I have limits."

Castiel repeated what he had said and even Sam had to laugh at the words coming through in Castiel's deep and somber tones.

Dean laughed wetly and wiped at his eyes. "Okay, so he can see me and hear me, but he can't make me hear him?"

"That is it in essence, yes," Castiel said.

Dean nodded to himself and closed his eyes. "There's something I need to say then. Sammy, I'm sorry. I am sorry for what I did, what happened to me and what I did to you."

Sam grimaced as he remembered. He had stayed in the dungeon for a long time, waiting for Crowley to answer his summons, but he hadn't come. Eventually, he'd accepted the fact he'd failed and was going to have to lay his brother to rest the way he deserved. He'd gone into Dean's bedroom, only to step back in shock when he saw the bed empty. He'd whispered and then shouted his brother's name, and someone had laughed in response. He'd turned and Dean had been there, black-eyed and menacing, standing behind the door. At first, Sam hadn't taken in the eyes or stance, he was just so happy to see his brother alive, but that all changed after a second. Dean's lips had pulled into a snarl and he swept an arm through the air, shoving Sam against the wall. He hadn't spoken a word; his actions had said it all as he had turned away from Sam with a look of loathing and marched from the room, leaving Sam heartbroken and desperate against the wall.

"I should have been stronger," Dean said quietly.

Sam was pissed and that gave him strength. He focused his anger into his hand and slapped Dean across the back of the head with all his ghostly might. Dean's head snapped forward and a hand came up to rub at the spot.

"Sam!" Castiel shouted.

"It's okay, Cas," Dean said, tone dripping with self-pity. "I deserve it."

Sam glowered at Castiel. "Repeat after me, Cas. What happened wasn't your fault, Dean. You weren't yourself. You were a demon. I swear, you say sorry again, I will empty every bottle of liquor in the place down the toilet."

Castiel repeated the words unflinchingly and Dean's face twisted from wrecked, to shocked to amused as he listened. As Castiel finished, he laughed slightly. "Well, it's not like you're letting me drink anyway."

"Moderation, Dean," Sam said.

"So," Dean asked, looking around the room as if trying to see a sign of Sam. "What's the plan?"

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and nodded to Castiel. "Cas needs his grace back and Heaven needs to be reopened again. Basically, we've got to deal with Metadouche."

Dean nodded as Castiel repeated Sam's words. "Hell, I guess we've got work to do."

* * *

**Okay… This isn't how I imagined the story going at all. I knew Sam would be in the veil, and so I imagined this story would be another angst fest. When I sat down to write though, Sam had other ideas, namely that he would be a snarky git. I'm not one of those writers that can make characters do what I want. They kinda lead me. The reason behind Sam's lightheartedness — which will become more obvious soon — will be explained in the next chapter. Hope you can bear with me until then. If you would rather read something angsty, I recommend Cross That Bridge — it's drama from start to finish. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **

**P.S. Dumbass that I am, forgot to thank you for the reviews for the first chapter. It really does mean the world to me to hear from you so if you have a moment, let me know what you think. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews, faves and adds for the last chapter. You guys rock!**

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_**Chapter Three**_

Dean was overwhelmed and overwrought. Sam was there, as a ghost, but still _there_. He'd laid Sam to rest outside that church, and that was supposed to be it. The fact Sam was denied Heaven was damn wrong, but Dean couldn't deny it felt good to have Sam back, even if he couldn't see him. He thought it was the end for them, when Sam made that last stand, but here he was, hanging on a little longer with Dean.

Castiel was looking to a spot a few inches from Dean, and frowning. Though the angel obviously wasn't happy, it pleased Dean that Sam was so close. They weren't exactly joined at the hip before, but with Sam gone in some form, that closeness felt good.

"When was I supposed to have the time to do that?" Castiel asked in a tone of forced patience. "I have been a little occupied recently, Sam."

"What's he saying?" Dean asked.

"Nothing of import."

"Hey!" Dean snapped. "That's my brother you're talking about. I can't hear him, so you're playing Heavenly translator, and I want to know what he's saying."

Castiel sighed heavily. "He is criticizing my appearance. Apparently, I need a haircut and better coat."

Dean threw back his head and howled with laughter. It felt so good. He never thought it would feel this good again. His stomach ached and tears streamed down his face but still he was laughing. Sam had never been dull, but he'd always treated Castiel with a little more angelic reverence than Dean ever had—part of his whole belief system. The fact he was now using his afterlife to bust Castiel's chops was hilarious.

"I'm sorry, Cas," he said, eventually choking himself to calm again. "But he's got a point. That coat is all kinds of wrong. Sam's the last person that should be talking hair though."

Castiel smiled. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean took a deep breath and the tension in the room changed palpably. "So, about Metatron, I heard you'd got him when I was… you know. What's happening with him?"

Castiel pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, Dean did the same and the chair beside him pulled out too, though no one could be seen to do it. Dean looked to the side and tried to imagine his brother sitting beside him. He thought maybe he could make out a faint outline, but that was just wishful thinking. It would take Sam a while before he could be seen. Kevin had taken a month and then it had been sporadic.

"He is trapped in Heaven's jail," Castiel said. "He has been since you died. I don't know any more as I have been otherwise occupied in the intervening weeks." He looked to the chair beside Dean and nodded. "You're right. He is the main problem now. He is the one that can tell us how to reopen Heaven and he is probably the only one now that knows where my grace is. Hannah has searched his person, but he is not carrying it the way Uriel did with Anna's."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "We've got to get your grace back."

Castiel hesitated but he didn't seem to be listening to Sam. It looked like he was locked in some internal debate. He looked up again and shook his head. "No, Sam. I am one angel. There are legions of my kind that need to go home." He smiled slightly. "You would say that."

Irritated by the silent conversation, Dean cleared his throat. "Want to fill me in?"

"Sam believes finding my grace is more important than opening Heaven."

"This is the grace that's going to kill you if we don't find yours, right?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded soberly.

"Then that's the mission."

"But I am one angel," Castiel said. "There are many more than matter more than—"

"No!" Dean shouted, cutting off Castiel's words. "I am done with this! Why do we have to be the ones that sacrifice ourselves all the damn time? You're one angel, Cas, and my brother was one man, and he closed Hell, but it wasn't worth it!" He stopped, panting heavily. Sam had saved the world from demons but it wasn't worth it, not to Dean. He would rather have demons crawling the earth if it meant his brother was still alive. "It wasn't worth it, Sam," he said quietly, glancing up to see if he could get some read on Sam's reaction from Castiel.

Castiel looked to the side for a long moment, his face creased with sadness. Eventually, he looked at Dean again. "We disagree."

Dean sighed. Of course they did. They weren't the ones that would be left behind, alone in the world. He was done with being left behind. "Disagree all you like," he said. "If you want my help, you're doing this my way. We're getting your grace back and _then_ we will take care of Heaven. The feathered pests have managed a year on Earth, they can handle a few more months."

Castiel was silent for a long time, and Dean was sure he was listening to Sam. He shuddered suddenly, as if Sam was shouting, and then nodded. "Okay."

Dean clapped his hands together. "Good to know you're on board, since we're doing it my way regardless. I figure our best chance is going back to your base and catching up on what we've been missing while you've been otherwise… occupied." Occupied chasing Dean's demonic self across the country, seeing the trail of destruction he left in his wake. He looked the chair beside him. "How about you, Sammy? Are you stuck here or do you know what's tethering you?"

It was silent for a long moment, and then Castiel said. "Just bring my duffel. I should be able to tag along."

Dean frowned. There was some tension in the air, as if a storm had just descended. "What are you tethered to, Sam?"

"Just bring the duffel." Dean was beginning to tell the difference in Castiel talking for himself and talking for Sam. It was something about the way he formed the words when he was talking for himself. Otherwise, it sounded like he was reciting from a script. He was talking for Sam now, but the strain Sam must be feeling bled into his tone, too.

Dean rose to his feet and walked to the opposite end of the table, where Sam's duffel lay. As he reached for it, it was yanked off the table and onto the floor. "Sam," he growled. "Quit it."

"Don't do it, Dean," Castiel warned.

Dean ignored him. He snatched the duffel from the floor and gripped the handle tight in one hand so Sam couldn't pull it away again. He slipped it open and began pulling clothes out at random. They weren't folded as Sam preferred, but stuffed inside, as if Sam had been in a hurry when he packed up. He dropped the clothes down on the table, hand scrabbling at the bottom of the bag for whatever it was Sam was trying to keep from him.

"Dean, please."

He shook his head. "Got to know, Sammy." He needed to know for two reasons. First and most importantly, he needed to know what Sam was attached to so he could protect it. He also wanted to know what it was Sam was trying to hide from him.

His fingers closed around a small, metal object and he pulled it out, knowing exactly what it was before he even saw it. He should; he had worn it for long years around his throat. It was the amulet Sam had given him for Christmas the day Sam's innocence was stolen by their father's journal.

Mingled shame and anger settled over him. He was pissed that Sam would have had it all these years and not told him, and ashamed that he had ever let it go in the first place. It would have been easy to say that he had dropped it into the trash because it had failed them in their search for God, but it would be a lie. He had thrown it away to hurt his brother. He'd known what it meant to him, what it represented, but after seeing Sam's heaven didn't include him, he'd been so angry. After giving everything for Sam, even his life, he still didn't matter to Sam. He had regretted it after. During the year Sam was—so he believed—in Hell, he had wished again and again that he'd had that to remember his brother with, by keeping a piece of him close.

"Why do you have this?" he asked quietly.

"Why'd you think? Picked it out of the trash."

"But why?" Dean asked, anger surging again and making his tone harsh.

"Because you might have thought it was worthless, but I never did."

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean shouted. "Why the hell didn't you—"

"He's gone," Castiel said soberly.

Dean spun on his heel to face the angel. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"He has left. I imagine he is somewhere in the bunker still, but I cannot see him. He has the ability to conceal himself, even from me."

Dean cursed. "Well that sucks." It was more than that though. He wanted his brother close, but at the same time he knew why he'd decided then was the time to leave. Dean had upset him. Now he thought back on his words, he realized Sam would take them as a rejection. In truth, Dean was overjoyed that he had the amulet back. It had been gone too long.

He slipped it over his head so it rested on his chest, relishing the weight.

* * *

They were halfway to Colorado when Sam appeared in the backseat. He had been there since around a mile from the bunker, Castiel could sense him, but he had remained invisible till then.

Sam was sitting stretched out with his legs across the seat and in arms behind his head. "Haven't done this in an age," he said happily, no sign of his previous sadness. "Hey, Dean, remember when we were kids and Dad would make us a bed on the backseat and we'd crash together and snuggle."

Castiel repeated the words automatically, turning to face Sam as he finished to see a wide smile across his face.

"Dude!" Dean spat. "We never snuggled."

"I know," Sam said happily. "I just wanted to make Cas say snuggle."

Castiel scowled at him. While he was happy that Sam was happy, he was not amused to be used as a butt of the joke between the brothers. While it was good Sam was dealing with his setback so well, it was a little confusing. The Sam he had spent the last weeks of life with was dour and wracked with guilt. He had chased down every lead on Dean with a zealous need. Part of Sam's change of mood could easily be subscribed to the fact Dean was cured now, but his subsequent death and entrapment in the veil should have taken the shine off it at least a little to Castiel's mind. He would have to talk to Sam about it when they were alone next.

Sam lounged back against the seat and grinned at Castiel, starting to hum a tune. Castiel didn't recognize the tune, but when Sam started singing, he understood. Sam had many positive attributes, but his ability to carry a tune wasn't one of them, and Castiel quickly grew annoyed.

"What's he saying?" Dean asked when Castiel huffed his frustration.

"He is singing," Castiel said dourly.

Dean turned to face him for a second. "Seriously? What."

Castiel sighed heavily. "Henry The Eighth, I am."

Dean roared with laughter. "Sammy, are you seriously reenacting _Ghost_ on my backseat?"

Sam chuckled. "Get me a potter's wheel and me and Cas will be set."

Castiel scowled at him. "I am not repeating that."

Sam's grin widened impossibly. "Go on, Cas. He'll get a kick out of it."

Castiel shook his head. There wasn't much he wouldn't do for the Winchesters, but this was one of those rare things. Since Metatron had imbibed him with the knowledge of popular culture, there were many things he understood better. Unfortunately, the potter's wheel scene from _Ghost_ was one of those things, and he refused to open himself to Dean's ridicule as well as Sam's.

"Repeat what?" Dean asked eagerly.

Sam leaned forward and patted his brother's shoulder. "Nothing, Dean."

_That_ Castiel was happy to share, and though Dean looked disappointed by the fact there was obviously a joke he was missing out on, he seemed content. Castiel thought that had a lot to do with the ghostly hand on his shoulder.

They drove on for an hour before Dean pulled over for gas and a rest stop. Though he had no need of it, he didn't tire, Castiel got out of the car too and leaned against the hood. Dean filled their tank and then went inside to pick up what he called 'Drive time essentials' — namely candy and chips. Sam appeared by Castiel and stood opposite him.

"You okay, Cas?" he asked.

"Yes…" Castiel said thoughtfully.

"But?"

Castiel smiled slightly. "I am curious about you, Sam. While you've obviously been amused and have been entertaining your brother at my expense, I was wondering about your state of mind."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Worried I'm going vengeful already?"

"No, I am wondering what it is that is making you so happy."

Sam sighed and turned away for a moment, watching his brother through the plate glass window. "It's Dean," he said.

"You're happy to be with him again?"

"Yes, well, no, but mainly yes." Sam raked a hand over his face. "Look at him, Cas."

Castiel looked through the window. Dean felt their gaze and he turned and gave them a thumbs up and wide smile.

"He's almost happy," Sam said. "He's been through hell; he died and came back as his worst nightmare. The least I can do is make this as easy for him as I can. He doesn't need to know what it's really like. He doesn't need to know how bad."

Castiel felt a heavy weight drop into his stomach. He should have known sooner. He should have seen. "How bad is it, Sam?"

Sam looked thoughtful. "Not as bad as the cage. Worse than losing Jess." Castiel stared into his eyes and Sam shifted uncomfortably. "It's worth it though, Cas. Dean's worth it. It's what he needs."

"And what about you? What do you need?"

Sam locked eyes with him. "We're reopening Heaven right?"

Castiel nodded.

"Well, that's what I need."

Dean came outside again at that moment and Sam fell silent, looking at his brother with an unnamable emotion in his eyes.

"We good to go?" Dean asked.

Sam knocked one of the sacks of chips out of Dean's arms and grinned. "Ready when you are."

Forcing a smile, Castiel climbed into the car and prepared himself to play the part of the jester, knowing that by helping Sam he was helping Dean, too. It was all he could do to make it easier for them both, even though as he caught Sam's eye through the mirror, he realized it wasn't nearly enough.

* * *

**So…. Sam embraced the snark and the Samulet made a reappearance. Good times. When I realized Sam would be tethered to **_**something, **_**the Samulet sprung to mind—and maybe I did a little happy dance. I love the Samulet. I love what it represents, and the scene in DSOTM, when Dean's drops it into the trash, wrecks me. This is the second time I've brought it back in a fic (Breaking Down The Wall) and if I get the chance, I will do it again. **

**Sam's snarkiness… This isn't how I envisaged it going at all. This story was supposed to be an angst fest, but when I sat down to write it came out like this. I like it though. It's been a long time since I have had the chance to write snark like this. It won't all be giggles and movie quotes though. There are serious issues at hand here and I want to do them justice, too. **

**I still don't know how long this story will be. I am currently writing chapter eight and I'm guessing I'm around the middle of the plot. Good news is I have an ending in mind now—I was clueless when I started—so I have a goal to work towards. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks go to Gredelina1 for helping me with this. She listens to me angsting over each chapter and then goes through them with me to make sure they're readable. Love you hon xxx**

* * *

_**Chapter Four**_

Sam noticed a definite trend in his time as a ghost. The worse he busted Castiel's chops, the better Dean's mood seemed to be. It wasn't perfect, the fact he had to use Castiel to make his brother happy, but it was better than the alternative: Dean knowing the truth.

He worried Castiel was going to give the game away, as he kept glancing over the back of the seat at Sam, looking concerned, but Dean didn't notice. He drove as he used to: fast, with the music blaring and his hands tapping the beat on the steering wheel. It was all good until Bon Jovi came on the radio. Dean snapped it off quickly with a moody glance in the rear-view mirror, as if he could see Sam there and was worried about his reaction. Sam hadn't really held out much hope that Dean wouldn't remember his demon days and curing, that would be too good to be true, but it still made him feel a pang of regret at the proof.

He rallied for a way to cheer his brother up again, and came up with an idea. Leaning over the seat, under Castiel's confused look, he flipped the radio on again and twisted the dials till he came to a college-radio station.

Dean groaned. "Seriously, Sammy?"

Sam chuckled. "Ghost picks the music. Driver shuts his cakehole."

Castiel eyed Sam curiously as he passed on the message and then his eyebrows rose as Dean bellowed laughter.

Satisfied that Dean wasn't dwelling on what had happened anymore, Sam patted his shoulder and settled back against the seat. His eyes fell on the cord of the amulet around Dean's neck, and his cheer dropped slightly. He was happy Dean was wearing it again, it felt a little like forgiveness, but he wished he could get into Dean's mind and know why he was really wearing it. Was it out of guilt and need to make things better for his brother, or did he actually forgive Sam all his crap? He'd once said he did, as they'd stood at Rufus' grave, but emotions were high that day and he might not have meant it. When he could talk to Dean in person again, when he'd gathered the ghostly mojo, he would ask. Then he realized the unlikeliness of ever actually persuading Dean into that particular conversation, and he laughed. Castiel eyed him over the seat and he shook his head, not wanting to explain.

When they arrived at Castiel's base of operations, Dean shut off the engine and Sam leaned forward in his seat, looking askance at Castiel. "You ready for this?"

Castiel frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you basically abandoned them a couple months ago, and unless you kept it under your hat, you've not exactly been checking in with them."

"They will understand," Castiel said. "What we were doing was more important."

His eyes flickered to Dean who was staring out of the window, looking bored, though Sam could see the tension in his jaw that made him sure Dean knew exactly what they were talking about.

"Are you ready?" Castiel asked.

Sam frowned. "Sure…"

Castiel sighed. "Sam, you are a ghost now. Every one of those angels will be able to see you, and they can be… intense."

Sam shrugged. "As long as they're not packing salt rounds, there isn't much they can do to bother me."

Castiel didn't answer, but he continued to look dour. Sam wasn't worried. It wasn't like being _seen_ was going to bother him. This ghost thing was a new development. It wasn't like he'd spent his life invisible. As for them being intense, he had spent years in Castiel's company; he knew exactly how intense angels could be. He was more worried about their reaction to Castiel.

Stupidly, he didn't even consider their reaction to Dean.

There was an angel outside the door, disguised as a security guard, or perhaps his vessel had been a security guard before it was taken over. Whatever. He nodded to Castiel and opened the door. Sam could feel his gaze on him as he passed and entered, and he figured they did make an interesting sight, an angel, a human and a ghost.

The vast room of Castiel's base hadn't changed much, except there seemed to be even more desks and computers crammed in. Sam guessed there would be more angels on Castiel's team now as they'd abandoned Metatron's cause. The giant wall of blinking lights had a lot less lights now, but there were still some. That confused Sam. He'd thought the lights denoted Metatron's followers known locations, so what were they doing there now?

There was a hubbub of noise as they entered, angels speaking on phones and to each other, but as people saw them, they fell silent. Sam saw one woman actually drop the phone back into its cradle without a word of explanation. Every eye seemed to fall on their group, and Sam started to feel uncomfortable under their gaze. On some faces was confusion, but the majority of them seemed a little awestruck. Sam remembered that these angels were so into Castiel that had him do roll call just so he would say their names. Apparently there was still a little Bieber worthy worship going on. Then, as they moved through the room, Sam noticed some of the people looked less pleased. It seemed Castiel was going to get some static after all.

"Talk about a mixed reaction," Dean mumbled. "You put any of these in a time-out recently, Cas?"

Castiel shook his head. "It is not me they are reacting to, not all of them at least."

"Then who?" Sam asked.

"You and Dean," Castiel said simply.

The door to Castiel's office opened and Hannah, the angel that had asked Castiel to kill Dean, stepped out. Sam's anger rose at the sight of her. She had wanted his brother dead, and the way she was looking at him now didn't seemed to have earned him any affection. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. She locked eyes with him for a moment, a small smile on her face, and then she looked away at Castiel who nodded.

Muttering broke out, and Sam heard their names in varying inflections. Some sounded pleased and others upset.

"Who does he think he is?"

"How can he show himself here?"

Dean scowled at the angels that had spoken and received crossed arms and stony glares in return.

The walk to the office seemed to take forever, but eventually they were walking past Hannah and stepping inside.

She closed the door behind them and then looked at them each in turn. "Castiel. I am surprised to see you back," she said, "with company no less."

"Hannah," he said soberly. "You know Sam and Dean."

"Yes," she said, locking eyes on Sam. "It is good to see you again, though I wish it were in happier circumstances. I am sorry for your current situation."

Sam raised an eyebrow. Did she really think some sweet words were going to make up for the fact she tried to have his brother killed? "I'm fine, thanks," he said stiffly, "Current situation is not a problem."

"You are trapped," she said. "Does that not bother you?"

Dean's forehead creased and he looked at a spot a few feet from Sam, as if hoping to see his reaction.

"Nothing bothers me anymore," he said, looking pointedly at Castiel so he would know to pass the message onto Dean.

Dean nodded as Castiel spoke, but he didn't look completely at ease. Sam moved to stand beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Dean started at first and then he nodded and smiled slightly.

"And you, Dean," she said. "I am surprised to see you again."

"You shouldn't be," Dean said. "Always knew Sammy would fix it."

"I didn't doubt that. I did doubt whether you would have the courage to show yourself."

Dean's muscles stiffened under Sam's hand. "I did nothing that I could control. In case you missed the memo, I _was_ a demon."

"Yes. I know. I also know it should never have come to that. If Castiel had killed you when he was asked to, you would never have been so powerful."

Sam released Dean and strode forward, getting uncomfortably close to the angel. "Shut your mouth" he snarled.

"Sam!" Castiel warned. "Calm down!"

"it's okay, Sammy," Dean said, not seeing Sam's actions but knowing from Castiel and experience that Sam wouldn't handle that well.

Hannah didn't flinch back from Sam's anger. She stared into his eyes. "I am sorry I offended you," she said. "I am, we all are, grateful to you for what you have done for the world. Know this, we are working tirelessly in our efforts to reopen Heaven. We want you to be at peace as much as we want to go home."

Sam turned away from her, disgusted. They didn't give a crap about him and what he'd done, just like they didn't see all the great things Dean had done, like taking out Dick Roman and Azazel, reaching Sam so he could take Lucifer back to the cage, helping Castiel put the souls back in Purgatory, and every other single hunt they'd done to make the world better. They just cared that he'd been a demon. They were assholes.

"This is not why we are here," Castiel said. "Dean and Sam are not the issue. Metatron is. What progress have you made with him?"

Sam turned to see Hannah's reaction. She looked pointedly at the opposite wall. "We have not yet been able to make any headway with him. His will is strong, and he is giving up nothing."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Then you're not working hard enough. Everyone breaks eventually. You just need to find the right spot to work."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't stupid, of course Dean knew about this stuff, but to hear him talking about it with authority wasn't the greatest feeling. He wished he could flicker out for a while, hide from what they were saying, but Dean would know why he did it and that would hurt him.

Hannah locked eyes on Dean. "I should not be surprised that your mind goes straight to torture, should I. We are not savages. We are angels."

"You're not torturing him?" Dean asked. "What the hell are you doing then?"

"We are questioning him."

Sam rolled his eyes. "So, you've got Metatron in Heaven's jail, scariest place imaginable outside of Hell, and you're _talking_ to him! Are you kidding me?"

Hannah shook her head. "No. There is no one to question him regardless. Thaddeus was Heaven's keeper and he was killed by Gadreel."

Dean cracked his knuckles. "Let me have a go at him then."

"No!" Sam said quickly at the same time as Castiel.

Dean frowned. "That you or Sammy?"

"Both of us," Castiel said. "You cannot do this, Dean."

Sam agreed. Dean would be letting the darkness in again if he did this, and he couldn't bear that. After what Dean had done as a demon, the people he'd hurt, he needed nothing less than to tap into that again.

Dean eyed Castiel speculatively. "How do I know you're not just saying what you want? For all I know, Sam wants me to do this. He's as invested in reopening Heaven as the rest of us."

Sam stiffened. Dean was crossing a line. If they were going to make it work, him as a ghost but still with his brother, Dean was going to need to trust Castiel and not piss him off as he seemed to have done now.

"You cannot know," Castiel said. "You have to trust me. I have earned that much, Dean."

Dean stared into Castiel's eyes and eventually nodded. As soon as Sam was able to have a conversation with his brother without Castiel acting as translator, he was going to remind Dean of just how much they owed Castiel.

"We need to find someone else," Castiel said, turning to Hannah. "Metatron must be broken."

Hannah smiled grimly. "Perhaps, but there are other things we need to discuss first. We need to talk about you, Castiel. You let us down. We needed you, and again, you were occupied with Dean Winchester."

Sam cursed. "And that's a bad thing, why?"

"Because we needed him here," she said. "Not all supporters of Metatron came to our side when Castiel broadcasted his words. Some are still loyal, and they are fighting us. We needed our leader."

"I told you," Castiel said, "I never wanted to be a leader."

"Then this should be easier for you. Many among our number have decided that they would rather follow someone else now."

Sam scoffed, sure by her self-satisfied expression that he knew who they wanted to follow instead. "Let me guess, they want to hitch to your wagon now."

She nodded. "As second in command, I am the obvious choice."

"And I can tell how much you hate the idea," Sam said sarcastically. "Haven't any of you heard of loyalty? Castiel gave everything for you people."

"No," she said. "He gave everything for you and your brother. I have no quarrel with you, Sam Winchester. You have redeemed yourself in our eyes, but your brother has not. Castiel must make a choice. He must dedicate himself to the angels and our mission, or he must let me lead."

"I never wanted to lead," Castiel said. "You and our brethren forced the command on me."

"And now we are relieving you of it."

Sam's gall rose. They were ungrateful, selfish, feathered assholes. Castiel had done everything they wanted, against his own wishes, and they were throwing him aside if he didn't play the game their way. "This is bullshit!" he snapped. "You can't seriously think he's going to abandon us to please you."

"No," she said sadly. "I don't suppose he will. But you can, Sam. You need not stay with your brother now. You can be with us."

"I'm not leaving my brother," he said through gritted teeth.

"Why not?" she asked. "Can you truly look at him now, knowing everything he did while black-eyed and see him as the same man? Does it not get tiring to be unseen and unheard by anyone but Castiel? Stay with us, join our cause, and we will see you home."

Sam laughed. "You're kidding, right? Join _your_ cause! I'd say I'd rather die but that's a bit redundant I guess. How about this: I'd rather serve Metatron than you!"

She shook her head sadly. "I am sorry you feel this way. Castiel, the choice is yours. You can rejoin us and lead, but you will have to forsake the demon.

"He's not a demon anymore!" Sam shouted.

Dean didn't give away any sign of emotion at what she was saying, but Sam knew he was stressed to the point of breaking. If Castiel hooked up with the angel brigade again, there would be no way for Sam and Dean to communicate. That would suck, but it wouldn't be the worst thing. It wouldn't be forever. Sam knew Castiel would never do it though. He would stay with Sam and Dean to the end, because that was what he did.

"I must decline," Castiel said. "You know I never wanted to lead, that has not changed. I am glad to relieve command to you. I have one request though, if you ever do break Metatron and find where he concealed my grace, you tell me."

Hannah was silent for so long, Sam thought she was going to refuse. He was wondering whether it was worth taking a swing at her, just for the satisfaction of it, when she spoke. "We will. And, Castiel, take care out there. Metatron may not be able to command them, but his followers are still following his plan, the main component of it is to recruit. They may target you."

Castiel nodded. "Thank you for the warning." He turned and walked from the room with his head held high. Dean followed but Sam lingered for a moment.

"Is there something you need, Sam?" Hannah asked.

"I have a warning for you, too," he said. "I'm fairly new to this ghost thing. I'm just getting the hang of moving things. I've always been a fast learner though, so let me tell you this. If you're lying to Cas, if you deny him his grace out of some twisted power play, I will take one of those nice shiny swords from the truck and drive it through your throat. Understand?"

She gave away no emotion as she listened, but as he finished, Sam thought he saw a flicker of something in her eyes. She didn't speak but she did nod. Not wanting to turn his back on her, Sam allowed his focus to slip enough that he merely flickered out of existence.

* * *

**So… Ghost Sammy is badass. This chapter was a lot of fun to write, with the snark and drama, and I hope it was at least interesting to read. **

**I finished writing the story this week. It didn't come out as long as I thought it would. It's 12 chapters and a epilogue. Keep an eye out for the next chapter. There will be a much loved and much missed — by me at least — character returning. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	5. Chapter 5

**To simplify things, I have not marked each place where Castiel speaks for Sam. Unless it's obvious otherwise, assume Castiel repeats everything Sam says for Dean. **

**The snark is a little low in this chapter. They are discussing important things and it didn't seem right that Sam would be snarking his way through it. The snark will be back in the next chapter.**

* * *

_**Chapter Five**_

They didn't speak much on the drive back to the bunker. Even Sam was quiet, humming to himself stretched out on the backseat. Castiel was thinking about Hannah and what had happened. Judging by Dean's tight grip on the steering wheel and clenched jaw, he was doing the same.

Castiel was disappointed in his family's reaction to Dean. He had expected a little static, but for Hannah to refer to her command to kill him was low. Their reactions to Sam were expected; he'd heard Sam's name bandied about on angel radio, and they had been full of admiration. Their offer for Sam to join then and abandon his brother was laughable. The ties of Heaven used to run deep before the fall and war, but they were never as deep as those between the Winchester brothers.

Castiel had heard Sam's threat to Hannah, and it had pleased him to see the flicker of fear in her eyes. There was no doubting Sam meant every word of it, though he wasn't quite ready for something like that yet. He had excelled as a ghost already, focusing his mind enough to imitate touch, but he had only been a ghost for a handful of days now and it would be a while before he could combat an angel. Not that Hannah could physically do anything without the use of iron or salt; there were no angelic abilities specific to ghosts. That was what made his threat intimidating. He had nothing to lose physically.

Sam disappeared from the backseat as they approached the bunker entrance, and Castiel wondered where he had gone. The question was answered when they got inside. He was standing by the counter and there was a glass of whiskey poured and ready.

Castiel raised an eyebrow. Only the day before, Sam had been knocking the glass out of Dean's hand.

"He needs it," Sam said with a shrug. "Especially after what uber bitch said."

Castiel nodded.

Dean spied the whiskey and he grinned. "Now you're talking, Sammy!"

Sam crossed the room and pulled out a chair at the table, an unspoken request for them to join him. Dean did, taking the seat beside Sam's and sipping at his drink appreciatively. Castiel sat opposite them and steepled his hands under his chin, waiting for Sam to speak, but it was Dean that spoke up first, looking apologetic.

"Cas, I'm sorry."

Castiel frowned. "For what?"

"For losing you the angel brigade. If I hadn't… well, you know, you'd still have your army to help out."

Castiel shook his head. "None of it was your fault, Dean. I was the one that abandoned the cause for my own reasons. I feel no guilt for that choice and I feel no remorse for losing my followers. I never wanted to lead them anyway."

Leadership had been forced upon him because of the lack of anyone better. He had never wanted that. He had proved in the past that he was not a suitable leader. The result of his attempt to lead had killed many angels and humans, and he'd almost sent the world careening towards its end with the leviathans. For the first time since he had joined Metatron in what he believed were angel trials, he felt some measure of peace. It wasn't complete, the people he cared about were suffering too much for that, but it was close.

Sam eyed him curiously and then nodded. "Dickish angels aside, we've got a problem. With your army on side, we had a better chance at getting your grace back. Now we're back to doing it for ourselves. Metadouche is the only clue, and while they're questioning him with tea parties and pillow fights, we're not going to get anything out of him. Besides, even if they did manage to break him with their 'killing him with kindness' plan, I don't trust Hannah to keep us in the loop."

"I do not believe she would keep me from my grace," Castiel said. "That is not what angels do."

"It's not what angels _did," _Sam said. "They're different now, Cas. They're even bigger assholes than they ever were, Uriel included."

Castiel frowned as he shared Sam's words with Dean. He didn't like to think of his family in those terms, but he couldn't deny they had lost their way since the fall. The fact many had chosen to fight other factions was disappointing. He couldn't help but long for the days when their Father was there to guide them, when protecting humanity had been the mission.

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "I agree with Sam. We can't trust them. We need to get your grace back on our own, and we need to take out Metatron ourselves. It's the only way we can be sure it's done right."

"I understand why you would want to kill Metatron, Dean," Castiel said. "He did something terrible to you as well as all angels, but he—"

"You think this is a revenge for _me_ gig?" Dean asked, incredulity in his tone.

"Isn't it?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "No, Sammy. It's a revenge for _you_ gig. Not just you, but for Kevin and Cas and every other person he screwed over. Thanks to him, you and Kevin are trapped. Cas is running out of juice and every angel that dies means a human dying, too. The blood on his hands…" He shook his head. "This isn't about me. I did that to myself. This is about giving him what he deserves."

"I get that," Sam said. "I do, but you've got to think about the consequences, Dean. I went after Lilith out of revenge, and it almost ended the world. You went after Metatron, and it killed you. He needs to die, but maybe he shouldn't. Jail might be the safer option."

Dean's eyes bugged out as he listened to Castiel repeating Sam's words. "You're kidding me, right? You think jail is the answer. Why don't _you_ want revenge, Sam? He trapped you here. He killed me. He killed Kevin. You've got to be pissed at him!"

Sam closed his eyes, seeming to summon patience. "I _am _pissed. I want him dead for what he did to you and Kevin, but I can't let myself feel that. I can't let myself get lost in the anger. Look at Bobby. He didn't want to be vengeful, he thought he had it under control, but thanks to his anger at Dick, we lost him again. I don't want that to happen to me. I don't want to be something you have to hunt."

Castiel watched Dean's reaction as he spoke. He knew Dean hadn't considered the possibility of his brother becoming vengeful because he had faith in him, faith in Sam to be strong, but he'd had faith before, and it had been misplaced. Though he had been manipulated by angels and demons alike, Castiel himself included, Sam had almost ended the world in his quest for revenge. Castiel couldn't allow that to happen again. They could not go into this for vengeance, and they could not let Sam lose himself to rage. That would perhaps be even more tragic than his death.

Dean shook his head. "Okay. We'll stow the Metatron decision for now. It's not like we can get at him anyway, with him locked up tight in Heaven. We've still got to get Heaven open though. How the hell are we going to do that?"

Sam turned to Castiel, light of realization in his eyes. "Cas, can you speak Elamite?"

"Of course," Castiel said. He could speak every language ever spoken now or in the past. How else would he understand prayer? "Why are you asking?"

"Kevin translated the tablet into Elamite cuneiform," Sam said excitedly. "We've got all his notes. Maybe you can read it for us."

Castiel shook his head sadly. "I cannot."

"Why not?"

"Because though it is translated, it is still hidden from my eyes as an angel. The tablets are not for angels; they are for prophets."

"But we could read his notes," Sam said. "It's how we worked out where Metatron was in the first place. And Crowley read a piece."

Castiel smiled fondly. "That's because you are human. And Crowley, corrupt as he is, was once human, too. The protections God put in place are for angels."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I get that he's your dad and all, Cas, but he didn't exactly make things easy, did he?"

"Did your father ever make things easy, Sam?" Castiel asked.

Sam shook his head. "I guess not."

Dean groaned. "Cas, you want to explain what that was about and what it's got to do with our dad?"

Castiel realized he'd forgotten to include Dean in their conversation, and he felt abashed. It must be difficult for Dean to be separate from their talks, especially as they involved his brother. He gave Dean an abridged account of what had been said.

"So you can't read it and the one person—other than Metatron—that can is currently trapped in Hell," Dean said. "Awesome."

"Not forgetting Crowley said it was irreversible," Sam said bitterly.

"Oh!" Dean clapped a hand to his forehead. "Hold up. I remember something. When I was a, you know, Crowley and I spent a lot of time together…" That was not new information. They'd largely been able to track Dean because of Crowley's presence. The King of Hell left distinctive signs of his existence. "And he liked to taunt me about my human life, showing how ineffectual I was then. This one time, he was talking about his time in the dungeon here. He said the solitude was worth it because of the times he had to screw with us."

"Do you think he was lying about it being irreversible?" Castiel asked hopefully.

Dean nodded. "I'm almost sure he was. We know he screwed with Kevin. Why wouldn't he screw with us, too?"

Sam slapped Dean on the back; perhaps a little harder than he intended to as Dean was shoved forward. "Awesome. Now we just need to find someone that speaks Elamite cuneiform and we're good. Cas, you're an angelic rolodex. Know anyone?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Do I know anyone that speaks a language that has been extinct for millennia? No. But I perhaps have another idea."

Dean leaned forward. "Well, don't leave us hanging."

Castiel was amused that they were being so slow. They needed someone that could read the tablet, and for that, they needed a prophet. With the switch flipped in Heaven, there were no more prophets, so the last one was still active, despite the fact he was now a ghost. "We need Kevin."

Dean looked uncertain and Sam outright glowered.

"No," he said stiffly.

"Why not?" Castiel asked, confusion etched into his brow.

"Because he's dead, Cas," Sam said.

"So are you," Castiel said pointedly. "And yet here you are."

"He's a kid, dammit!"

"As were you when you went on your first hunt. Like it or not, Kevin has a sacred duty to the Word of God and that doesn't end because he died. He is the only one that can help us."

Sam shoved away from the table and paced the room. Dean watched the seat move back and frowned. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Castiel is being an asshole, that's what?" Sam snapped.

Castiel ignored him and addressed Dean. "Sam doesn't seem to want to involve Kevin again."

Dean's brow creased. "Sammy, it's the only way."

"No, it's not!" Sam shouted. "How can you be on board with this after what we did to him, what_ I_ did to him? He's dead because of us."

Castiel didn't want to repeat what Sam said, Dean didn't need to hear it, but nor did he need him to as the next thing Dean said was, "Let me guess, he's angsting because _he_ killed Kevin."

Castiel nodded.

"Dammit, Sam," Dean sighed. "We're not doing this again. You didn't kill Kevin. Gadreel did. And the only reason he was able to was because I tricked you into letting him in. That's on me. Kevin knew that. He told you so. So why can't you believe him? If he knew what was happening, he'd want to help. We at least owe him the choice. We can call up his mom and see what he says."

"No. We're not doing that to him. He's earned his peace."

"You think he's at peace?" Dean asked. "I know you don't believe that, not really. You and him are stuck, trapped. This will be to his benefit as much as yours and ours."

"We're not dragging him in again."

Dean shook his head. "I like Kevin, he's family, but you're my brother, Sam. If bringing Kevin back in is what it takes to help you, I'm doing it."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't do it, Dean."

"How exactly are you going to stop me? Hey, what are you doing?"

Sam was reaching into Dean's pocket, much to Dean's shock. He pulled out his cell phone and dropped it onto the floor. With a well-placed foot, he cracked the plastic case.

"Sam!" Dean shouted. "What the hell!"

"It's okay," Castiel said serenely. "I have a phone."

Sam glowered at him and then a grim smile curved his lips. "Fine. How about this? You drag Kevin back in here, I will leave."

Castiel knew better than to hide the threat from Dean. He repeated the words and watched as Dean's expression grew dark.

"You wouldn't do that!" he said quietly.

"Wouldn't I?" Sam asked. "I've got the whole veil to hide inside."

Castiel scowled at Sam. That was a low blow, using his brother's fear of separation to get his way. Sam looked back, no sign of regret in him.

"Sam, you told me what you needed," he said pointedly. "This is the only means available to us of getting that for you."

Dean looked confused. He hadn't been privy to that conversation with Sam. "What does he need?"

Neither Castiel nor Sam spoke. They merely glared at each other, each weighing up the other's resolve.

"What does he need?" Dean asked again, irritation in his tone.

"Don't you dare, Castiel," Sam snarled.

Castiel opened his mouth to answer, to shatter Dean's peace of mind, but at that moment, someone hammered on the door. All eyes flickered to it for a moment, wondering who it could be, and then Castiel got to his feet. Whoever it was—there were only a few people that knew about the existence of the bunker and those that did were dead, trapped in Hell and trapped in Oz—they were not expected by either of the brothers.

Castiel walked up the stairs and swung it open. An attractive woman stood on the threshold and behind her was a familiar figure. "I am not happy about this," she said in lieu of a greeting. "But he insisted."

Kevin peered around his mother's shoulder and grinned. "Hey, guys."

* * *

**So… Kevin is back! *happy dances around the room* I love Kevin. I miss Kevin. I want to adopt Kevin and feed him hotdogs and pep pills while wrapping him in cotton wool to protect him from the world.  
**

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for all the reviews for the last chapter. Thanks also to Gredelina1 for helping me hammer out the details for this story. Love you hon.**

* * *

_**Chapter Six**_

Sam and Castiel were hiding something, Dean knew that, and he was determined to find out what it was, but when Kevin peered around his mother's shoulder like a five-year-old arriving at a birthday party, he had to laugh.

Mrs. Tran pushed past Castiel and came down the stairs. Not needing to take the slow route, Kevin flickered for a moment and appeared beside Dean.

"Hey, Dean," he said, reaching out a hand and nudging Dean's shoulder.

"Hey, Kev. How've you been?"

"Dead," Kevin said. "You?"

"Dead then demon." Dean shrugged. "You missed a lot."

Kevin nodded soberly. "I heard about that. Sorry, man. And Sam…" He turned to a spot beside Castiel. "I'm really sorry."

If Sam replied, Dean couldn't hear it and no one spoke for him. It sucked that Castiel and Kevin could see and hear him while he, the brother, was in the dark the whole time. The sooner Sam managed to manifest physically, the better.

"How did you know to come?" Castiel asked.

"You closed Hell!" Kevin said enthusiastically. "The veil's going crazy with the news. You wouldn't believe how many people are there because of demons. They're practically buzzing with it all. Justice at last. And when I heard about Sam, I had to see him. I've been trying to track him in the veil, but not many people have seen him."

"See, Sammy," Dean said. "Kevin came all on his own. Didn't need my phone after all."

"He's gone," Castiel said dourly.

Dean cursed. Sam's ability to literally disappear mid-conversation was a pain in the ass. "Sorry about that," he said to Kevin. "Sammy's having a ghostly temper tantrum today."

Kevin perched on the edge of the desk for a moment, but when his mother scowled at him, he slid off and looked abashed. "It makes sense," he said. "He's only a few days in the life, right?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, it's all pretty new to us all."

Kevin looked impatient. "Yeah, but it's _all _new for Sam. It's no wonder he's struggling with it."

"Struggling?" Dean said, turning to Castiel. "How is he struggling?"

They were hiding something but Dean had thought it was some crap from his time as a demon. If he found out that Castiel was hiding something important about Sam, he was going to be pissed. Taking care of Sam was his job—that didn't end because Sam was dead—and he needed all the information for that to work.

"Sam is fine," Castiel said serenely. "Kevin is referring to the emotional reaction to Sam's fate. It's hard to be a ghost."

Dean turned to Kevin. "Explain."

"It's like…" Kevin frowned, "being high I guess." He shot his mother a quick glance. "Not that I've ever beenhigh. But things are more intense as a ghost. Nothing you feel is tempered with anything else. You're not tired or hungry or thirsty, you just are. You have an emotion and it kinda fills you. I think that's why so many are going vengeful. They're trapped, which is making them crazy, and they're angry that they're trapped, which is making them act out in freaky ways." He shrugged. "It sucks really."

Stowing the mention of an increase in vengeful spirits for a moment, Dean said, "So Sammy's all 'filled' with emotion."

Kevin nodded. "Yeah, and I guess it really sucks for him, as he wasn't exactly Mr. Emotionally Numb before all this happened.

Dean and Castiel exchanged a dark look. Dean was wondering if it meant Sam had a head-start for going vengeful. He couldn't bear that. He'd lost his brother only to get him back as a ghost. If he lost him to his rage, it would be too much. The one comfort was the fact Sam was aware of the risks. He had said so when they were talking about Metatron. Forewarned was forearmed, as Bobby used to say. He would know he had to keep a lid on it.

It explained Sam's new dedication to humor, too. He had been giving Cas a hard time, which was awesome as far as Dean was concerned, because he was feeling good. A happy mood filled him. The flipside was that a dark mood filled him, too. Dean was going to have to be careful with that. He didn't want his brother suffering, so he would make sure to keep things as light as he could. The problem with that, as Dean knew all too well, was that they had plates full of crap right now, and they couldn't ignore that.

He sighed and raked a hand over his face. This was going to be complicated.

"Are you struggling?" Castiel asked Kevin.

Mrs. Tran scoffed. "Not my son. He is a good boy."

Kevin ducked his head. "I'm okay. It takes a little getting used to, being like this, but once you've got a handle on it, emotions are easier to deal with. Sam'll get there, too."

Dean wished Sam was there for this conversation. He needed to hear this. The discussion of Metatron and his anger towards him made it clear that he was thinking about it, and there if there was one thing Dean knew about his brother, it was the fact he got all emo and thoughtful about things. The risk he might be going down that route had to be working him over.

"So, you said you were going to call," Kevin said. "What's up with that? What do you need?"

"We need you to translate the angel tablet," Castiel said.

Kevin's eyebrows rose but he didn't speak. His mother, on the other hand, had no such compunction. "Are you kidding me? After everything he did, everything he gave, you want _more_ from him?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes." He opened his mouth to say more, perhaps to remind Kevin of the sacred duty of a prophet, but Dean cut him out with a sharp glance.

"Kevin, we _don't _want this for you, none of us. We want you to be at school, kicking ass in exams and living the good life." He felt a pang of regret that these were things Kevin would never have. "But we can't give you that. The next best thing we can give you is Heaven, and we can't do that till the gates are opened again. We don't have a chance of doing that without you."

"No!" Mrs. Tran said stridently. "He's not doing it. He has given too much already."

"Mom," Kevin said sadly.

"No, Kevin. We're leaving." She swung her purse over her shoulder and made for the stairs. When Kevin failed to join her, she turned and snapped his name.

Kevin shook his head. "Not yet."

"You can't be thinking of doing this!" she said incredulously.

"I'm not thinking of doing anything but seeing my friends right now. We've got stuff to talk about, to catch up on, and I'm not leaving till I've done it."

Dean was pleased that Kevin wasn't bowing under his mother's wishes. Through no fault of her own, she had missed more than a year of Kevin's life, and that time had changed him from an AP student with big dreams to a man with heavy responsibilities on him. He'd risen to the challenge brilliantly, making Dean proud, but the fact remained that he should never have been forced to change in the first place.

Mrs. Tran stomped across the room and sat on the edge of a chair at the table. She pulled her phone out of her purse, tapped the screen a few times and then settled down to read, making it clear that she wasn't a part of them but she wasn't leaving her son to their mercy either.

Kevin cast her a regretful look and then turned back to Dean. "So. What else did I miss?"

* * *

After a brief version of 'How I Spent My Summer', which consisted of demons, chasing demons and ended with death—and didn't Dean look all kinds of wrecked when they got to that part—they fell silent.

Kevin could feel the tension in the room and wondered if a chorus of 'You Have a Sacred Duty' was coming from Castiel, but instead the angel glanced around the room as if looking for something.

"No Sammy?" Dean asked, looking around too as if he would be able to see him.

Castiel shook his head. "No Sam."

Kevin could understand Sam's need for a little space. He got the idea that when he arrived they'd been in discussion of whether to call Kevin back into the field and Sam was coming down against. For Kevin to arrive under his own steam had to suck. It didn't help that Dean and Castiel were two of the most intense people Kevin had ever met, including his mother. Sam had to be taking a lot of attention following his death. All in all, Kevin was surprised he wasn't spending more time in the veil.

"I guess we could go looking for him," Dean said doubtfully. "He might be lurking in his room or something."

Kevin smiled. The idea of them all joining a game of hide-and-seek against a ghost was pretty funny. Sam would hear them coming a mile off and disappear again, that was if he wasn't hiding in the veil already. Besides, Sam definitely wasn't lurking in his room. Kevin had spent a month in the bunker as a ghost before he'd been able to manifest for Sam and Dean to see him, and he'd noticed things. Sam's room was anonymous as any chain motel, and he barely spent time in there that wasn't for sleeping. Sam liked the main room of the bunker, with its shelves of books and displayed weaponry. Ousted from there by their presence, he would be looking for somewhere else familiar, and Kevin had an idea of where that would be. Dean wasn't the only person with an unhealthy fixation with the Impala. Sam would often go the car during quiet times. He would pick through the trunk as if searching for something, only to come away empty handed. He wasn't stroking the hood lovingly as Kevin had seen Dean doing, but that didn't mean he wasn't visiting with his four-wheeled home. Kevin had laughed a lot over that at first. The two most badass men he'd ever or would ever see were unusually emotionally attached to a car.

"I'll go find him," he said, flickering out their view before anyone could stop him.

"Dammit," Dean snapped. "Now there's two of them doing it!"

Kevin's mother laughed softly. "That's my boy."

Smiling to himself, Kevin left the room and made his way down to the garage. It did feel good to be able to confound Dean for once. He had spent a long time as The Winchesters' pet prophet, only being told what was necessary for him to do his job. There was a whole lot of history between then that he was oblivious to until recently. Carver Edlund's books were an eye-opener, and Kevin thought he'd only scratched the surface. He'd thought he had it bad as a prophet. Who knew being a Winchester was worse?

Sam was where he'd known he would be, leaning against the hood of the impala, looking moody. He rubbed the back of his neck as Kevin approached, and Kevin knew he was reacting to the presence of another ghost. He was feeling the same prickling on his neck.

"Hey, Kevin," Sam said quietly.

So, it was a full on misery session happening. Kevin could deal with that. It wasn't Sam's fault really. He was stuck in the funk and couldn't pull himself out. Luckily, Kevin was there to help.

He moved to sit beside Sam, perched on the hood of the car, something he would never have dared in life at the risk of Dean seeing him, and nudged Sam's shoulder.

"So, I got the lowdown from the others on what's been going on."

Sam nodded, looking down at the concrete floor of the garage. "Yeah. Things have been kinda insane." He sighed. "I'm sorry you got dragged in again."

"No one dragged me in. I came on my own. Had to see you guys."

"Yeah, come see the great freak show that is Sam Winchester."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Okay, that's going to get old fast. You're not a freak show, Sam. You're a damn hero."

Sam looked up. "You don't know the half of it."

"Maybe I don't, but what I do know is incredible. Sam, you put Lucifer back in the cage!"

Sam looked confused for a moment and then he groaned. "Damn you, Chuck!"

"Chuck?"

"Carver Edlund," Sam spat. "That's who you've been reading, right?"

Kevin nodded. "Yeah, and they were a real eye-opener. Sam, I thought you and Dean were pretty impressive before, now I know you saved the damn world, more than once, I see just who I was hanging with."

Sam shook his head sadly. "Dean, yeah, he's a damn hero, always has been, but me… There's a lot Chuck left out of the books, but believe me, I'm no hero. I'm the one that doomed the world. Hell, just look at what I did to you. I killed you."

Kevin shoved away from the car and stuck out a hand. Sam's head snapped back as the blow caught him on the jaw.

"What the hell!" Sam asked, all moody and hurt feelings.

"Sam," he said through gritted teeth. "We've talked about this. Get over it! You didn't kill me, that dick-bag angel did, and from what Castiel and Dean told me, he came good in the end, too." And that galled Kevin. It had been easier to hate the angel when he thought he was a straight up bad guy.

"Doesn't make you any more living though, does it?" Sam asked.

Kevin shook his head. "It sucks that I'm dead. I had big plans and they're all crap now, but hey, you closed Hell. I helped. Our lives counted for something. Have you paid attention in the veil? It's like the land of regrets. I'm proud of what I did with my life, and you should be, too. I don't know what Edlund left out of the books, but I'm sure it can't cancel out everything good you did."

Sam looked brooding. "I guess…"

"Damn, Sam, were you this moody as a human, too? 'Cause if you were, I missed it."

Sam smiled, and Kevin was pleased to see his mood flipping. He had a question though that needed answering, and he worried it might drag Sam straight back down.

"Sam, why did you finish the trials?"

Sam's mouth dropped open. "You're kidding, right? Dean was a demon. Someone had to help him."

Kevin shook his head. "No. You could have cured Dean without finishing the trials. You completed the third trial when you spoke the spell. Why'd you do that?"

Sam looked out over the rows of cars, some of them worth more than Kevin's mom's 401k, looking thoughtful. "I had to," he said eventually. "Dean talked me out of it last time, and everything went to Hell from there. So much happened, to you, to me and most especially to Dean." He looked apologetic. "Dean died trying to make things right for what happened. And then he became a demon. I knew I couldn't let him lose anything else because of me, so I finished the trial. I knew this was my chance to make things right. Hell's closed and Dean's saved."

"And you're a ghost."

Sam shrugged. "That's for the best, too. You know what Dean did to save me after the trials last time. You read Chuck's books. He can't let me go. This time, he's got no choice. I've got however long it takes for them to open Heaven to prepare Dean to let me go."

"And if he's still not ready then?" Kevin asked.

Sam shrugged. "Then I guess I stay. Dean's got the amulet, and I don't see him dropping it into Mount Doom anytime soon. As long as he needs me here, I'll stay."

Kevin was more than a little shocked by Sam's statement. He was also awed. He got that Sam and Dean were close, you had to be deaf and blind to miss that, but the fact Sam was willing to stick around as a ghost till Dean was ready to let him go…

Kevin shook his head. He had been a ghost a while now, and though he loved his mother, he was more than ready for Heaven. He couldn't imagine staying longer than he had to for anything, not even her.

He looked into Sam's eyes and saw the resolution there. Sam would stay, possibly losing himself to anger and becoming vengeful, just because his brother needed him to. Someone needed to be looking out for Sam, because he sure as hell wasn't doing it for himself.

Kevin knew what he needed to do for himself as well as Sam. He had to join Team Winchester again and decipher that tablet.

Man, his mom was going to be so pissed.

* * *

**So… Kevin's on board and Sam is on sticking around for Dean. Bless 'em. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Seven**_

Castiel knew that Dean was anxious. It was obvious in the tense set in his shoulders and the way he was clenching and unclenching his hands. He had been ever since Kevin had left them to go find Sam. It wasn't Kevin's absence that was stressing him, it was Sam's. It was understandable. Despite the fact Sam was with them still in some form, he had died, and Dean had been powerless to stop it. That translated as a failure to Dean, and now, armed with the knowledge of Sam's ghostly emotional volatility, Dean wanted him close more than ever.

"Sam will be fine," Castiel said quietly.

Dean nodded.

"He will," Mrs. Tran said, not looking up from her phone. "My Kevin will take care of him. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried."

She raised her eyes from her phone to give him an amused look. "Sure you're not."

Dean huffed and turned away.

"They're coming back," Castiel said. He could feel them approaching. It was like prickle on the back of his neck.

Dean brightened visibly and looked around for a glimpse of them. Rather than just appearing where they wanted to be, Sam and Kevin appeared to have walked back to the main room. The reason for that became obvious as they stepped into view. Kevin was towing Sam along by the sleeve of his shirt. Castiel had seen something like it before in his days as Steve, the Gas N Sip employee. In those instances, it had been a fractious toddler being dragged out of the store by its mother having been denied candy, but the expressions were the same as Sam and Kevin bore now, impatient and slightly amused for Kevin, and defeated and annoyed for Sam. Castiel had to swallow a laugh.

Sam rolled his eyes and smiled slightly. Castiel examined the smile carefully, wondering if it was for their benefit or for he really was feeling better than he had been. He found he could not tell. He knew Sam well, but he had not learned to decipher the slight shifts in Sam's expressions. There had been no need to learn them before. Sam had never hidden his emotions. He had worn them proudly for everyone to see. This new subterfuge was a recent development.

"So," Mrs. Tran said, stuffing her phone back into her purse, "you've caught up with your friends. It's time for us to go."

Kevin looked awkward. "About that…"

"No, Kevin!" she snapped.

He shook his head sadly. "I have to, Mom."

"No, you don't! You've done enough."

"Not yet," Kevin said. "I was talking to Sam and he made me see I have to do this. I have to help them."

"Me!" Sam squawked. "How did you get _that_ out of what I said?"

Kevin laughed softly. "I read between the lines. It's about sacrifice, Sam. You do what you have to do."

Sam looked at him, wide-eyed and panicked, and Castiel wondered what they had spoken about that Sam was worried Kevin might reveal now. Dean was clearly wondering the same, as his gaze was snapping between Kevin and Sam and his brow was furrowed.

"You've sacrificed enough," Mrs. Tran said. "You've done enough."

Kevin sighed. "Mom, how do you see this ending for me? I stick around forever, eventually going vengeful?"

"You would never…" she started.

"It's not a choice thing," Kevin said, turning to Dean. "Is it?"

"No, it's really not. Sooner or later, everyone trapped in the veil will go vengeful. It might take decades or even centuries, but it will happen. And there's no way of dealing with them, as there's no way of making them move on with nowhere to move on to."

Sam's face was a mask, but Dean's clearly showed the pain of what he was saying. One day, if left in the veil long enough, Sam would become vengeful. It was a fact. It could take centuries for someone as informed and armed as Sam, long after his brother perished, but there would always be hunters, and one day Sam would become the thing they hunted.

"I've got to do this," Kevin said. "It's the only way for me and Sam and every other person out there to have peace. Heaven needs to be opened, and we're the only ones that can do it."

Mrs. Tran looked furious. Her glare rested on Dean, but to his credit, he didn't look uncomfortable. He stared right back. "None of us want this. Kevin is family, but in our family sometimes you have to be the one to step up to the plate and do what other people can't."

She took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. "Okay. But we're laying down some ground rules. Kevin, we're leaving. We need to find a hotel."

"There are plenty of rooms here," Dean said. "You're welcome to any of them."

She shook her head. "No. We're not staying here in this… freak show. I know what you'll do to him. Kevin will be working on that damned tablet day and night and it will drive him insane. We will come and help, but he will also rest."

Castiel opened his mouth, ready to point out the senselessness of her statement—ghosts didn't need rest—but Sam shook his head slightly, and so he stayed silent. It probably wasn't a good idea to antagonize the mother of the prophet.

Kevin gave a long-suffering sigh and nodded. "I guess I'll see you guys tomorrow."

He trailed up the stairs after his mother, looking every inch the reluctant toddler. As the door slammed closed behind them, Sam turned to Dean. "You need sleep, too."

Dean bristled. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not, Dean," Castiel said. "You haven't slept since the night we arrived here after New York." Where he'd been cured and had proceeded to watch his brother die. "And that wasn't natural sleep."

Dean grumbled. "Yeah, thanks to you."

"So you need sleep, too," Castiel continued.

Dean still looked reluctant. Sam nodded to himself, seeming to divine something from his silence.

"It's okay, Dean. Me and Cas can keep ourselves amused. And it's not like I can go anywhere while that's round your neck."

Finally, Dean nodded. "Okay. I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow." He couldn't say _see,_ as it would be some time before he could do that. He plodded out of the room, towards the halls where their sleep quarters lay.

Sam watched him go with an unnamable expression on his face and then he turned to Castiel and smiled. "Well, Cas, the night is young. What are we going to do?"

* * *

Kevin's mom drove back into town in stony silence, with her hands gripping the steering wheel tight and her mouth pressed into a thin line. She was simmering at a level of pissed Kevin hadn't seen in a long time, and the explosion was imminent.

Kevin tried to ignore her in favor of thinking over what had happened in the past few hours.

He'd known, as soon as he's heard the news that Hell was shut up tight, that he had to see Sam and Dean again. Then he'd heard the news about Sam, and that need had been even greater. He had been alone as a ghost in the early days, confused and scared and able to do nothing but watch things fall apart. There were some in the veil that helped, but they were few and far between and pretty busy to boot—there were so many struggling in the veil. Kevin did what he could to help, but it was chaos. He'd knew he _could_ help Sam though and Dean by default. He hadn't known angels could see ghosts, so he had been prepared to see Sam and Dean through the initial stages of communication. When he'd realized Castiel could do that for them, he'd felt a little bereft of use, but then, in true Winchester fashion, they'd found something else for him to do.

The tablet.

Kevin had honestly thought he was done with his whole mission from God since his death. He wasn't complaining. No one was forcing him to help, but he was a little frustrated that he was going back to hauling the prophet load. How he was feeling was apparently nothing to what was going on for his mom. She had never been happy with the responsibility forced on him, and now he was going back to it, after it cost her a year of her life spent captive, had to feel like a betrayal. He tried to gather his thoughts, to make a solid argument in favor of helping them, but it all came up weak and defensive. He couldn't tell her what had really persuaded him—Sam's determination to help Dean—as she would likely throw that at Dean in retribution and Dean didn't need to hear that anymore than Sam needed it.

They pulled up in front of a nice looking two-story house with the name _Granny's Bed and Breakfast _painted onto a sign on the lawn. Kevin knew, even without stepping inside, that it would be full of lace doilies and flowery wallpaper. His mother would love it. He could have made a case for a Super 8 but since he was already making a case for them uprooting everything for him to be a prophet again, he figured he should pick his battles.

They pulled onto the drive and his mom climbed out of the car. Kevin stayed a few moments, just enjoying the break in tension, before climbing out.

His mother was inside, dealing with a matronly looking woman in a floral dress with all the shape of a two-man tent. Kevin flickered out of view and went inside.

"I need two queens?" his mother asked.

Kevin rolled his eyes. He wasn't going to need a bed because… Hello, ghost! Telling her that would make no difference though. She still changed his sheets every week, though he hadn't slept in that bed since the night before his SATs.

"The Violet room," the woman said. "Right up the stairs and to your left."

His mother took back her credit card and they made their way up the stairs. As soon as the door closed behind them, Kevin came back into view just in time for her to spin around and glare at him. "Okay, Kevin," she said in a tone of forced calm, "tell me why you feel you have to do this."

"Other than for the obvious reasons, like saving the world?" Kevin asked, and received a scowl in return. "Because it's the right thing to do."

"Right for who?"

"Right for me," Kevin said impatiently. "Okay, even if I defy the odds and don't go vengeful, I'll still be stuck here forever. That's no life, Mom. I know you want better for me, I want better for me, but it's too late for that. I'm dead, and there's no changing that." She winced and Kevin laid a hand on her arm as he went on. "This is for me as much as Sam and everyone else. I need to move on, and you need to let me."

Tears swam in her eyes and Kevin felt a hollow pit form in his stomach. He would have preferred an explosion. He hated to see his mother cry. He hated that it was him that she was crying over. He'd only ever wanted to make her proud, but thanks to some divine judgment, he'd been made a prophet, and the tears had started that same week.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said softly. "But this is what I've got to do."

* * *

He should have known it would be more complicated than arriving the next morning and sitting down to work on the tablet.

At Kevin's wheedling insistence, they'd stopped to get donuts for Dean in the ride to the bunker. Kevin had her get a bunch, as he wasn't sure if Castiel ate. It was a little miserable to watch other people eating and not be able to join them, but Kevin figured Sam wouldn't mind, as it would mean Dean was eating, and he'd seen how much Sam had worried over things like his brother's dietary choices. True, donuts weren't exactly balanced, but they were food, and Dean had looked like he needed it the day before.

When they got inside and Dean had made a grab for the donuts only to be instructed to "get a plate and quit drooling", by Kevin's mom, the ghost and angel contingent of their group gathered by the table and Kevin prepared himself to work.

"So, tablet," he said. "Where is it?"

"About that" Castiel said. "It has been broken."

That wasn't a problem. The leviathan and demon tablets had each been broken at some point. It was just a case of snapping the pieces together and watching the heavenly mojo seal them again. "Okay," Kevin said. "Let me see the damage."

Sam smirked as Castiel retrieved a hemp sack from the sideboard and emptied it onto the table. Kevin's heart sank as he saw it. This tablet wasn't broken, it was smashed to smithereens.

"Seriously?" he said, looking at Dean. "I thought you guys wanted help translating the tablet, not doing a heavenly jigsaw puzzle."

"Can you not do it?" Castiel asked impatiently. Maybe if it had been Dean or Sam that had asked, he would have responded with a smart-ass remark, but the last time he'd pissed Castiel off, the angel had grabbed him by the throat and lectured him on his duty. He might be a ghost now, but that was no excuse for pissing off an angel of the lord. He merely shrugged.

"Of course he can do it," his mother said, her tone practically dripping with maternal pride. "You grab the superglue and my boy will get to work.

Kevin sighed and picked up the largest shard of the tablet. His eyes skimmed the ragged edge and he searched through the debris for another piece that would match.

"How did it get broken?" his mother asked.

"Metatron was using it to tap into its power," Castiel said. "I had to break the connection, so I smashed it."

His mother nodded, looking amused. "You're rather violent for an angel, aren't you?"

"I am a soldier of God," Castiel said stiffly. "That requires a certain amount of violence."

Sam chuckled and met Kevin's eye. Kevin grinned and turned his attention back to the tablet. Sam was apparently having a good day, which was awesome as far as he was concerned, as Kevin had a proposal for Sam. He'd been rereading one of Edlund's books the night before while his mother slept, _Hell House_, and he'd discovered something about Sam and Dean that he couldn't believe he'd never realized before in all their time of knowing him: they were masters at pranks. While it was true things were serious, and there was work for them to do, there were so many hours in a day when you were a ghost and keeping things light was important to stop you going off the deep end. He had spent the night thinking of all the things he and Sam could use their incorporeal selves for, and screwing with Dean (and maybe Castiel) was top of that list.

As the last piece of the tablet fell into place almost thirty-minutes later, Kevin looked up and smiled. "Done."

"Didn't I tell you he'd do it," his mother said in the tone she used to reserve for boasting about test scores to the neighbors. "That's my Kevin."

"Nice one," Dean said enthusiastically.

"Well done," Castiel said dryly. "Now, translate."

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "Okay, I'm going to need a pen and some paper and…" He checked the time. "About six months."

"Seriously?" Dean asked, looking disheartened.

Kevin wondered idly if they all had amnesia. How else could you explain the fact they seemed to have forgotten that it took half a year to translate half a tablet, and that had been a cakewalk in comparison. It was like Metatron didn't want the tablet to be read by anyone when he'd written it, which, now whe came to think about it… Go figure.

"No, Dean," Sam said, his acerbic tone tempered by the amusement in his eyes. "Give him ten minutes and he'll be done."

"Really, Sammy, sarcasm?" Dean said with a quirked brow.

"Well you were being stupid," Sam said defensively. "He's going to need time and space to do this, and since you're the one that was determined to bring him into it, you can be in charge of delivering."

Kevin nodded and grinned. "Still, it won't be so bad. At least this time I won't need pee breaks."

* * *

**So… Poor Kevin's back to hauling the prophet load and Sam is a toddler. Good times. **

**Hope you enjoyed. Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	8. Chapter 8

_**Thanks to Gredelina1 for all the help and support she gave me writing this chapter.**_

* * *

_**Chapter Eight**_

Sam had always been a talker. The only times he was usually quiet was in his brother's company. They seemed to have developed a silent form of communication that Castiel couldn't quite understand. It was all about the quirk of lips and the lines in a forehead. Castiel didn't have that method of communication with Sam, so they would talk. But Sam wasn't talking now. He was flipping the pages of a book much too fast to be reading and scowling down at the pages. He had been like that since shortly after Dean had been persuaded to go to bed, an hour after Kevin had been frogmarched out by his mother. Castiel guessed he was bored, but he didn't know how to entertain him. Until recently, he'd not spent much time with Sam without there being a purpose behind it. They'd been almost exclusively in each other's company for the past two months, searching for Dean, but they'd always been focused on the search, and downtime had been practically unknown. Sam would search until exhausted and then search some more until Castiel reminded him he would need strength when they did find Dean again, which would make him sleep. There had been nothing entertaining about that time.

Sam looked up suddenly, a frown creasing his brow. "You feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"Feel me!" Kevin said, appearing beside Sam. "And please don't. That'd be weird."

Sam laughed. Castiel felt a twinge of something indefinable. Sam had gone from moody and quiet to grinning and laughing with the mere arrival of Kevin. He had thought, over the last year, that he and Sam had grown closer, there'd been hugs even, but he'd not been able to trigger this reaction in Sam.

"Thought you were under house arrest," Sam said. "Momma Tran hand over the ring?"

Kevin shook his head and grinned. "Nah, I snagged it from her purse after she fell asleep. I was going crazy there with nothing to do and no one to talk to, so I figured it was time to rebel."

"She's going to be pissed. And she did have a point; you can't spend all your time on the tablet." Sam looked apologetically at Castiel as if expecting him to argue. "You'll get burned out."

Kevin had spent hours the day before on the tablet, trying to decipher the symbols. He said Metatron hadn't wanted anyone to be able read the angel tablet and therefore it was much harder to decipher. He was working on translating each individual symbol as a separate entity. Then, apparently, it would be a case of piecing the individual parts together like a puzzle. As proved, Kevin was good at puzzles. Castiel had hope that they would be able to reopen Heaven without the involvement or torture of Metatron. Not that Castiel was technically against hurting him…

"I'll get back before she wakes up," Kevin said. "Besides, I'm not here for the tablet. I'm here for you guys."

Castiel frowned. How was Kevin being there going to do anything for them if he wasn't working on the tablet.

"Well, you really, Sam," Kevin said. "I was thinking. We need to train you up?"

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "Train me how exactly?"

"Ghost school. You've got the basics down, right, like manifesting touch, but you're not physically here yet. That'll take practice."

Sam looked at him intently. "Can you make it so Dean can see me?"

Kevin shook his head and Sam looked disheartened.

"No need for the butt-hurt face," Kevin said. "I can't make anything happen, but you can. There's a bunch of cool stuff you can do. Manipulating temperature for one. Mom's got this neighbor, real dick bag. He hasn't had a hot shower in weeks. He's had three different plumbers come out so far."

Sam laughed. "How do you do it?"

"It's all about concentration and wanting it bad enough. That's pretty much how it works for everything. Like this…" He held out his hand and the book Sam had been reading shot into his hand.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, "Yeah, not sure I want to be doing that." His expression was dark and Castiel was sure he was thinking of his telekinetic ability to hold demons in place when he was drinking demon blood.

Kevin frowned. "Why not? It's cool."

"I don't think Dean would like it," Sam said quietly.

Kevin nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. No telekinesis. There's still plenty you can do though." He clapped his hands together. "We're gonna have so much fun."

This didn't seem like the soundest use of their time to Castiel, but then again, he had just been contemplating his inability to entertain Sam, so perhaps it was for the best. It couldn't be all work for Sam and Kevin. They needed to relax sometimes if they were to remain in control of themselves.

* * *

"Anything?" Sam asked impatiently.

Castiel shook his head. They were in the kitchen and Castiel was standing with his hand under the faucet. He was supposed to be feeling for a change in the water temperature, and while feeling the warmth rushing over the palm of his hand was pleasant, it was a little dull after the first five minutes.

It was the third night of what Kevin called Ghost School and Sam called a waste of time. They weren't making a lot of progress. What Sam seemed to want more than anything was to be able to manifest physically for Dean, and he wasn't having any success. He tested it continuously during the day, stepping in front of Dean, but other than feeling the temperature drop when Sam was in close proximity to him, Dean couldn't see a thing.

Kevin said Sam was psyching himself out, blocking himself with his desperation to do it now. He had already made great progress in his abilities in a short space of time, but Sam seemed to feel like a failure.

Why it was so important for Sam to be able to manipulate the temperature of water wasn't clear to Castiel—he had no annoying neighbors to deal with—but in their more lighthearted moments, Sam and Kevin laughed a lot about it.

"Okay, let's try something else," Kevin said after another few minute's attempts.

Sam shut off the faucet and turned. "Like what?"

"Ghost fighting," Kevin said. "There are a lot of vengeful spirits out there now, and if you come into contact with them, you need to be able to defend yourself and others."

Sam looked skeptical. "You want me to fight you?"

Kevin nodded happily. "Yep."

Castiel thought this was an epically bad idea. Sam was much larger than Kevin and he had a lifetime of fighting behind him. Kevin, for all his positive attributes, was much smaller and devoid of combat training.

"C'mon, Sam," Kevin said. "It's not like you can kill me."

"Still…" Sam said. "I don't want to hurt you."

Kevin smiled and there was something more than amusement in his expression. He looked a little evil. "You're assuming you _can _hurt me. So far, you've not exactly been rocking your lessons. I'll probably end up kicking your ass."

Sam glowered at him. "I was acing fight training while you were acing kindergarten."

"Prove it!"

Sam stepped forward, his hands fisted.

"Wait!" Castiel said, holding up his hands. "I think we should move this conversation somewhere there are less breakables. Dean seems attached to this kitchen and he won't be happy if you trash it."

Sam nodded. "Okay. There's a gym past the living quarters. We can use that."

He and Kevin flickered out of sight and Castiel sighed heavily. He missed his wings.

When he got to the gym, Kevin was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his hands fisted in front of him. Sam was standing opposite him and looking reluctant.

"Really, Kevin, I can defend myself fine. I don't need to whale on you to show that."

"You _could_ defend yourself," Kevin said. "That was when you were alive. Things have changed. Now, quit stalling and fight me already."

Sam looked at Castiel, an imploring look on his face. Castiel shook his head. Kevin had a point; Sam did need to be able to defend himself. Besides, he was a little curious about how this would end.

Sam huffed. "Fine." He squared his stance and swung an arm through the air, aligned perfectly for Kevin's jaw. Before it could land, Kevin had moved. He ducked back and gripped Sam's wrist. With a few swift twists, he had it pinned behind Sam's back in a half-nelson. He held it for only a few beats before releasing Sam and pushing him away.

Sam looked stunned and Kevin used his moment of inaction to land three blows to his head, one after the other.

"Kevin! Quit hitting me!" he said in what couldn't be called a whine but it was close.

"Make me," Kevin said, circling Sam with his fists clenched in front of his face. "You're the mighty hunter after all. I'm just a prophet."

Sam lurched forward and aimed a blow at Kevin's jaw. Kevin dodged back and the momentum kept Sam turning. Kevin used his capitulation to launch himself at Sam and jump into his back.

Sam spun around, with Kevin clinging to him and laughing raucously. Castiel couldn't help it. He had to smile. He had been worried that Sam would hurt _Kevin, _when in reality he was being soundly beaten by the younger—and much smaller—man.

* * *

Dean rolled over and pulled the pillow closer over his head. He couldn't sleep and it was starting to get old. Before, if he couldn't sleep, he would go get himself a drink, but Sam and Castiel seemed to have commandeered the main rooms of the bunker for themselves. The last time he'd tried to join them in the early hours of the morning, they'd clucked like mother hens and warned him about getting burned out. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have given two craps about what they said, but Sam had the whole ghost thing going on which made it harder to say no to him when he was all concerned.

Things weren't easy for Dean. He was dealing with the memories of what he had done as a demon, and trying desperately to not show it to Sam. He had done a lot of awful things, hurt a lot of people, and he couldn't forget that. He knew if the situation was different, the guilt would have crippled him, but Sam was there still, and he had to be strong for him. Sam had enough to be dealing with; he didn't need an emotionally screwed brother, too.

He punched the pillow into a more comfortable shape and slammed down against the mattress again. He closed his eyes and tried to force all thoughts out of his mind. It worked for all of a few seconds before something else caught his attention. Someone was laughing. It was muffled, coming from further down the hall somewhere, but it was definitely real.

He climbed out of bed, pulled on a t-shirt, and shoved his feet into his boots. The bunker might be home, but he wasn't padding around barefoot when Castiel didn't even remove his coat. That would be weird.

As he opened the door and moved out onto the hall, he realized the sound was coming from the gym. Whoever it was, they were still laughing. The only people in the bunker when Dean had gone to bed were Sam and Castiel, and though it didn't sound like Sam's laughter, Dean doubted it was Castiel either. An inkling of hope came to him. Perhaps it _was_ Sam. That would mean he'd got enough ghostly mojo to make himself heard. That would be awesome. As good as it was to have Sam's words passed on through Castiel or Kevin, it would be so much better if they could have a conversation without an interpreter. It would almost he as good as being able to see Sam.

He made his way along down to the gym and paused at the door as he took in the bizarre sight. Castiel was standing against the wall, and though he wasn't laughing, he was smiling widely at the spectacle in front of him. Kevin was circling on the balls of his feet, with his fists raised in front of him. As Dean watched. He struck out a fist into thin air and laughed again.

"C'mon, Sam," he said gleefully. "It's getting embarrassing now."

Dean sidled over to stand beside Castiel. "What's going on?"

"Kevin thought it would be a good idea for Sam to have some fight training. They've been sparring for about an hour now."

"You're kidding! Sam'll destroy him."

Kevin turned to face Dean. "He wishes."

Sam seemed to use Kevin's momentary distraction to land a blow on Kevin's jaw. The younger man's head rocked back. Dean had been on the receiving end of one of Sam's roundhouse punches more than once, and he knew just how hard Sam could lay the blow with his giant paws, but rather than being knocked off balance as Dean expected, Kevin shook his head. "Well done, Sam," he said sarcastically. "That one almost hurt."

Dean laughed. "Sammy, you're letting the side down. Where's your Winchester pride?"

"You try!" Castiel said, and Dean knew he was speaking for Sam. "It's not as easy as it looks!"

"I would, but you know, ghost! Unless you want me to load up salt rounds to defend you, you're going to have to handle this one alone."

Kevin was forced back a few steps and his laughter faltered. "That's more like it! Use the anger, Sam."

Dean could only see one side of the fight, but even he could see Sam had gained the upper hand. He wasn't thrilled that Sam was apparently angry now, but when Kevin's head rocked back and he grimaced, he had to admit it was satisfying. Kevin couldn't really be hurt, so Sam learning to defend himself was all good.

He leaned back against the cinderblock wall beside Castiel and watched his brother reclaim some Winchester pride.

* * *

They sparred for hours, and though Sam had gained the ability to fight, he wasn't completely able to block all Kevin's jabs. Occasionally, Castiel would share what Sam was saying, and it was pretty funny to hear 'Give me a break, Kev' in Castiel's deep and inflectionless tone.

Eventually, Kevin had to go—to sneak the ring back into his mother's purse.

Dean trailed out of the gym and into his bedroom. Despite the fact he hadn't slept at all, he felt energized and awake. Laughter had been what he needed, and between them, Kevin and Sam had delivered.

He grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom to clean up. He set the water running and stood in front of the mirror for a moment, assessing his appearance. There were shadows under his eyes that Sam would definitely bitch about, but his eyes themselves were bright for a change. At first, Dean hadn't been able to look in the mirror without seeing black eyes staring back at him, but it had got easier as time passed.

Stepping under the hot spray of water, he raked his hands through his hair, feeling the heat seep into him. With his eyes closed, he reached for the shampoo and squeezed it onto his palm then slicked it through his hair. He would need to shop for more soon. Sam usually took care of things like that. Dean used to tease him about it, the fact Sam preferred a specific brand.

Suddenly, the water switched from steaming hot to freezing cold. He jumped away from the spray and smacked the pipes, but the temperature remained resolutely icy. He cursed loudly and fluidly, and heard an answering laugh.

He knew that laugh. He had heard it before, many times over the course of his life.

He yanked back the shower curtain and stared with his mouth open.

"Sammy?"

* * *

**So… Dean can see Sam. Finally, right? In the next chapter they'll finally be able to have the talk I know some of you have been waiting impatiently for. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello lovely people *waves happily* Hope you've all had a good week. I have. I saw Kansas in concert Thursday night… Yes! **_**The **_**Kansas**_**. **_**They played Carry On Wayward Son and I died a little.**

* * *

_**Chapter Nine**_

He was there. He was actually there. Dean could see him.

He looked like hell.

He was wearing the clothes he'd been wearing when Dean last saw him in the chapel. His eyes were shadowed and his skin pale, but he was _there_. Dean didn't think he had ever appreciated sight more.

"Dude, curtain," Sam said.

Curtain? Of all the things they had to say to each other, Sam wanted to talk about curtains! Was he screwing with Dean, or had his marbles been shaken a little by death?

A towel flew through the air and landed on Dean's face.

"If you're not closing the curtain, at least use a towel," Sam said.

"What?"

"Cover up!" Sam snapped.

It took a couple seconds—because, hello, dead brother—but Sam's message sank in and Dean snatched the towel from his face and wrapped it around his waist.

"I can see you."

Sam nodded solemnly and then grinned. "I figured. I've been… Dude, hold the damn towel together."

Dean cinched the towel a little closer and laughed. "Okay, man, you can stop clutching at your pearls now. I'm covered."

Sam turned his eyes from the ceiling and smiled.

"So, how long have you been able to do this?" Dean asked.

Sam looked thoughtful. "Probably about five minutes. I've been trying forever, but I guess today's the day it actually worked."

Dean was trying to wrap his brain around it all. He'd been waiting for this since the moment Castiel told him Sam was still there. Judging from their experience with Kevin, he'd thought it would take at least another few weeks. In hindsight, he realized he should have known Sam would kick ass at being a ghost, overachieving smartass that he was.

Embarrassingly, Dean felt himself getting a little choked up. It wasn't just the fact it was Sam he was seeing; it was the reminder, in his pale skin and shadowed eyes, of what he was. He could see Sam now, but he still couldn't hug him or even slap him around for putting Dean through it all, because he wasn't really there. He was dead.

"How about you finish cleaning up and we'll talk," Sam said.

Screw that, Dean thought. Showering could wait. He had his brother to talk to. He started to step out of the shower, but Sam laughed. "Dean, you still have shampoo in your hair. Finish up. I'm not going far. We can talk after."

Dean nodded. "Okay. I won't be…" He trailed off as Sam flickered and disappeared.

Sighing to himself, Dean tested the temperature of the water. It had gone back to steaming hot. He didn't know how he'd done it, but he was sure Sam had something to do with the sudden ice wash.

He stepped under the spray again and raked his hands through his hair. The water streamed down his face and mixed with the tears he didn't feel falling. His fisted hand pressed against the white tile, and he shook his head. No one was there to see him cry and he had good reason for the tears; he had his brother back.

* * *

Showering didn't take long. Managing his emotions so he didn't go to Sam looking like someone had just killed his puppy—though that would have been easier to handle—was harder. By the time he looked and felt like himself again, Kevin and Mrs. Tran had arrived and were deciphering the tablet and doing a crossword respectively. Castiel was in the kitchen, fiddling with the coffee machine, and Sam was nowhere in sight.

After checking the bedrooms and other main rooms of the bunker, he was starting to worry. Sam couldn't go far, but he could go invisible. The new, snarkier Sam would probably get a kick out of watching Dean trail around the bunker looking for him.

"You looking for Sam?" Kevin asked as he made his third pass through the room.

"Yeah. I can see him again," Dean said, proud to show his brother's achievement.

"He told me," Kevin said, sounding only half interested. "Try the garage. He likes to hang out there."

How did Kevin know that and not Dean? When did their friend start knowing more about Sam's likes and habits than his own brother?

Since he died, a voice whispered to Dean.

"Thanks, Kev," Dean said distractedly.

He didn't _run_ through the halls to the garage, he was certain, but he did reach it at a speed usually saved for chasing fuglys. No one could see him though, he hoped, so he figured he had a pass.

Sam was leaning against the hood of the Impala. All that was missing was a beer in his hand and the open road and it could have been any of a hundred times they'd stopped at the end of a case for a little downtime.

He looked up as Dean strolled in—he'd marshaled control of his speed now—and grinned.

Dean stood beside him, leaning against his baby, and looked out over the rows of other cars parked in their bays.

"So…" he said awkwardly. "You okay?"

Sam turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "I'm fine."

Dean believed that about as much as he believed in unicorns and happy endings. Sam was not remotely fine. He was dead. That was screwing Dean over in all kinds of new and wonderful ways. It had to be doing a number on Sam even more.

"You're a ghost, Sam."

"Yeah, I'm a ghost. I'm not sleep deprived and on my way out the door. I'm not hallucinating Lucifer. I'm not sipping down demon blood. I'm not having skull cracking visions. Hell, I'm not in the cage. I've been plenty worse before. This is nothing."

Dean couldn't argue that Sam had been through a lot, more than anyone should have to deal with really, but he didn't buy this act his brother was putting out. This was not nothing. This was death. He knew his brother was okay with _that—_and didn't Dean just hate that knowledge—as he had been when he was walking off with Death in that damn cabin, but Sam wasn't only dead, he was trapped, too. He was not fine with that. He couldn't be.

He tried a change of tack. "What's ghostly life like?"

Sam shrugged. "It's okay. Can be fun sometimes. Kevin is a riot, and spending all that time with Cas is good."

"What do you do?"

"Mostly, what you'd think. Watch Kevin working on the tablet. Talk to you. Research Heaven in hopes of finding a way of cracking it open."

That was all stuff Dean knew about. That was what happened during the day. What was happening when Dean was sleeping—or attempting to sleep? "And at night? What do you and Cas do when you're not fighting prophets?"

Sam grinned. "We mostly watch you sleep."

"Dude!" Dean gasped. "Tell me you're kidding!"

Sam laughed raucously. "I'm kidding. At night we practice. Kevin's teaching me the finer aspects of being a ghost, like manipulating the elements and fighting."

"Yeah, I saw that. Looked like you were having your ass kicked."

Sam grimaced. "I was. Kevin can really pack a punch for a little, dead guy, and he's been doing this longer than me. I'm still trying to master it all. It's harder than you'd think."

There was something more than amusement in Sam's expression now. He looked frustrated and Dean thought maybe it was the first glimpse of genuine real emotion he'd seen so far. He knew his brother, and now he could see him again, he could tell Sam wasn't remotely the snarky, laugh-a-minute guy he'd been acting through Castiel and Kevin. He was struggling with something, and Dean thought he knew what it was.

"You know," he said, drawing a deep breath, "I owe you an ass kicking, right?"

Sam looked amused. "It was just a cold shower. Besides, you can't kick my ass. Ghost, remember?"

Dean shook his head slowly. "That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it. Damn, Sammy, we've got to talk about this."

Sam looked away. "There's nothing to talk about."

"I say there is!" Dean resisted the urge to try and shake Sam. It would do no good. It would only wreck him to see his hands move through Sam as if he wasn't there, and it might hurt Sam to see the same. For all his pretence that it was okay and that being a ghost was a laugh a minute, he couldn't really be feeling that. It was an act. Dean just wished he knew why he was acting, then he could make him stop.

Sam flickered and Dean's anger rose. If he thought he could just disappear and that conversation would be over, he had another think coming. "Don't you dare, Sam," he said. "Flicker out on me now and the next time you appear I'll trap you in a salt circle and blast you with a shotgun for good measure."

"Fine," Sam snapped. "What do you want to talk about?"

"You're dead," Dean said harshly. "How about we talk about that!"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm dead."

"Why?" Dean asked, mortified to hear that he couldn't keep the quaver from his voice. Perhaps it was better though, that Sam hear it and realize that Dean needed him to be serious for a moment, because this act, and that was what it was, was hurting him.

Sam pushed away from the car and paced back and forth in front of Dean. Dean let him, he didn't try to stop him, as he knew this was what Sam did when he was working through things.

"I had to," he said eventually. "It was the right thing to do?"

"Right for who?" Dean asked, aware that he was echoing Mrs. Tran's question to Kevin. It seemed being the ones left behind made you ask the same questions.

"For Mom," Sam said harshly. "For Dad and Jess, for Meg and the poor girls she possessed, and every other person Crowley and his bastards hurt. And for you!" He was shouting now. His hands came up to grip Dean's collar. "For you, Dean. For what happened to you. Crowley did this. He got you the blade and made you what you were! I did this for you!"

Dean swallowed thickly. Him. This was all because of him. He'd guessed Sam would use Jess and their parents as a reason, but he'd not thought of himself being a part of it. He saw it now as clearly as if it was spread before him on paper. Sam was dead because of him. He'd done this. He'd killed his brother. How was he supposed to live with that knowledge? Sam was still there, for now, but sooner or later, they would reopen Heaven, and he would be gone. How could Dean bear that? He couldn't. How could Sam do this to him?

"Don't you think I'd have preferred you alive?" he asked angrily. "I told you, there is no me if there ain't no you. Why didn't you listen?"

"I listened," Sam said. "I know that's what you think, but you're wrong. You can do this without me. I'll make sure of it. I won't go anywhere until you're ready."

"Ready?" Dean laughed mirthlessly. "You think I'm _ever_ going to be ready for that?"

"You will be one day," Sam said serenely.

Then the meaning of Sam's words filtered into Dean's mind, and he fought back a shudder. He would stay until Dean could let him go, which could be never. He would stay trapped on the earth, denied peace, because of him. As if it wasn't enough that he'd given his life for Dean, he was sacrificing his afterlife, too.

"You'll stay?" he asked, and he cursed the fact he sounded almost hopeful.

"Of course," Sam said with a smile. "That's what we do."

Dean closed his eyes and willed himself to remain in control, to not lose himself to emotion. What had he done to his brother that he believed this was even an option? How had Sam decided this was what he needed. What he wanted was his brother alive. That ship had sailed. What he needed now was for his brother to be at peace. But he was blocking that himself. Sam was as stubborn as a mule, just like their father; how was he supposed to make him see that he needed Sam to have what he needed more than what Dean needed himself.

"Sam," he said, "I'm sorry."

Sam shrugged. "It's okay, Dean. It's not so bad, being dead. I have all the free time I want and I don't need to sleep anymore, so no more nightmares." He laughed. "And there's ample opportunity to screw with Cas, though I guess that's over now you can see me. I'll find a new way to… What's wrong?"

Dean's fury had reached a new peak. Sam was lying to him. He was lying for Dean's benefit, but lying nonetheless. Being a ghost wasn't a trip to a theme park. It wasn't fun. It sucked ass for all of them.

"Quit lying!" he snapped. "I'm not buying what you're selling. You're not happy, Sam. I can read you like no one else. Quit pretending. Just… tell me the truth, please."

Sam stared into his eyes for a long moment, and Dean could almost see the cogs whirring. Sam was deciding how much to tell him, how honest to be. He opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was lost as Castiel burst into the room, looking wired and worried.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"Metatron, he has escaped!"

* * *

**So… Who wants to slug me for cutting that conversation off where I did? Like I've said before, form an orderly queue and you'll all get a chance. The action is about to pick up now as we're heading to the end of the story. I will post again as soon as I can. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks to Gredelina1 for helping me beat the wrinkles out of this chapter and for not killing me when she saw how I ended it. Love you honey xxx**

* * *

_**Chapter Ten**_

For a moment, Dean wasn't in the spacious garage with Sam and Castiel. He was in that warehouse, crumpled against the wall as Metatron slid the blade into his chest, smiling with satisfaction as Dean was impaled upon the sword. It lasted only a few seconds, the rush of memory, but it was long enough for Sam to notice and lay a tentative hand on his shoulder. He didn't ask Dean if he was okay aloud, but the question was there in the twist of his lips and a slightly raised eyebrow. Dean nodded slightly. He was fine. Almost.

Castiel turned away and strode out of the room. Sam and Dean delayed for a beat, long enough to exchange a glance in which Dean said their conversation wasn't over, and then they followed him.

It was clear that Kevin and Mrs. Tran had been told as much as Sam and Dean, as they were standing together, looking strained but confused.

"Cas," Sam said. "Explain. What's happened?"

"I heard them talking on angel radio," Castiel said. "Hannah has been likely been killed and Metatron escaped."

"But he was in Heaven's jail," Sam said. "I didn't think there was any place more secure than that."

Castiel sighed impatiently. "His followers orchestrated the escape. Hannah was interrogating him at the time—she is either dead or hostage now. They have taken the portal, and it is now guarded by his supporters. It is only a matter of time before Metatron moves it again."

Dean blew out a deep breath. "Awesome. Metadouche is on the run again."

"We have to find him."

"Yeah, Cas, that's an idea and all," Dean snapped. "But it's not like we had a lot of luck last time and, in case you're forgetting, he killed me when we finally did."

Castiel glowered at him. "I have not forgotten, Dean. I am more than aware of what he did to you _and_ the rest of my family. We still have to find him though. He can wreak untold havoc if he is allowed free rein again."

"Uh, I might have an idea," Sam said hesitantly. "What if I go after him?"

Castiel frowned. "How will you do that?"

"Well," Sam looked awkward. "He can't see me unless I let him, right? I can camp out where we knew the portal was last, and follow any angels that come out. Sooner or later, he'll show himself, and I can kill him. We've got an angel blade in the trunk. He won't see me coming."

"No!" Dean spat. "No way. Not gonna happen."

"Why not?" Sam asked, looking for all the world like he couldn't understand Dean's hesitation. "It's not like he can kill me, is it. And I'm the only one that has a chance of finding him without being seen."

"He'll sense you, Sam," Castiel said. "Even if he can't see you."

"Yeah, but what's he going to do even if he can? I'm a ghost already. He can't make me more dead."

"You may be right," Castiel said thoughtfully. "At least you would be able to follow him, to enable us to lay a trap for him, even if you are not able to take the killing shot yourself."

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. Castiel and Sam were talking about this as if it was an actual option. As if Dean would _ever _let it happen! "No!" he shouted.

Sam started. "Dean…"

"Don't _Dean_ me. You're not doing it."

"What are you afraid of?" Sam asked. "He can't kill me."

"No, he might not be able to kill you, but he can still end you. Let me guess, you want to take the amulet so you can bounce all over without being tethered to me. What if Metatron gets hold of it? We don't know what happens to ghosts that have nothing to tether them. You could be stuck in the veil forever!"

"I'm not going to let him get it," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not an idiot."

"Neither was I, but he still managed to kill me."

Sam shook his head. "That was before, when he was all hopped up on the angel tablet. He's not hooked up anymore. He's just an angel."

"Dammit, no!" Dean bellowed. "You're not doing it, Sam. It's not safe." They couldn't risk it, _Dean_ couldn't risk it, not when he had just got his brother back.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, a mulish expression of defiance on his face. "Then what are we supposed to do? Like you said, we didn't have an easy time tracking him down last time. Hell, even Cas with all his angels searching were shit out of luck."

"He's right, Dean," Castiel said. "I can think of no other way to find him."

Dean's hand came up to his chest and he clasped the amulet in a fist. "No. We're not doing this. I'm not giving it up."

Sam scoffed. "Sure. 'Cause it's not like you need to sleep or anything. There's no way of us getting it from you."

Castiel started forward, as if he was going to try to snatch it from Dean there and then. "I swear, Cas, you even try and I will blast you back to wherever it is angels go now when they're banished. And you"—he turned to Sam—"I will put in a salt circle and leave you there until the end of time if I have to." He sighed. "Just… we're not doing it. I've given everything to this damn fight, again and again, but I'm not giving this. We'll have to find another way."

He was mortified that his voice shook. He couldn't help it though. Sam and Castiel were talking about risking everything for this, Sam's very existence, and he couldn't do it. He'd lost enough, given enough, he would not risk his brother now.

Castiel stared into his eyes, seeming to test his resolve, and then he nodded dourly. "Okay, we will not do it now."

"Ever," Dean spat.

Castiel ignored him. "But we must find another way. We cannot lose more to Metatron. He must be stopped."

Dean bit his tongue to keep quiet, but he couldn't control his thoughts. He wanted revenge on Metatron as much as anyone—he had killed him after all—but this wasn't like the other battles they'd faced over the years. Sure, it sucked that the angels were trapped on earth, but it wasn't the end of the world again. This wasn't their fight, not really. Revenge aside, there was no reason for them to go after Metatron. He wasn't gunning for the planet. Other than a small minority, angels had banded against him. Why couldn't they let the angels solve this problem for themselves.

Dean wanted him dead, for Kevin and Sam and Castiel and himself, but he could live with him alive, too. Revenge always came at a price. Sam had proven that with Lilith. He'd gone after her and almost ended the world. Maybe this was a fight they should all sit out for a change.

"Kevin, it is more important now than ever that you decipher the tablet," Castiel said. "Have you made any progress?"

Kevin spoke up for the first time. "I have found the section that deals with the spell Metatron used, but I have no idea what it means. It's so cryptic. One phrase says _'the love that closes will open'_, but that's all. I don't know what God was trying to say." He shrugged. "I'm sorry."

Castiel waved away his apology. "Keep trying."

"You think he isn't already?" Mrs. Tran asked shrilly. "My son is doing more than his fair share in all this. What exactly have any of you done? He is here, working day and night to help you." She turned to Kevin. "You might be a genius, but don't think I'm oblivious. You've been sneaking back here at night."

"Yeah, but…" Kevin started, but she cut him off.

"But nothing!"

"Hate to interrupt," Sam said sardonically. "But we've got other things than family drama and Kevin's nighttime forays to worry about. If we're not going after Metatron through me, which is stupid, we need to bunker down here until we know where he is. He's gotta be pissed at the whole imprisonment thing, and with our luck, he'll have worked it out in his freaky mind to be our fault. He'll come after us, so we need to protect ourselves."

"You want us to stay here?" Mrs. Tran asked.

"I want you safe," Sam said. "And this is the safest place on earth."

"He's right, Mom," Kevin said. "We need to be here, and I need to work on the tablet."

She nodded, though Dean could tell it was reluctantly. "Okay. We will go to the hotel and collect our things."

"We can do that for you," Sam offered, indicating himself and Dean.

"Thank you, but no," she said sniffily.

"Fine," Sam said patiently. "Cas, will you go with them?"

Castiel nodded. "I will protect them."

Dean would have liked to argue, to tell them he'd go himself, but he didn't entirely trust Sam to not snatch the amulet when he was driving. It was a poor sign of how things were that he couldn't trust his brother to protect himself, but then, when he thought about it, had he ever been able to do that? Even back in the day, when they were just starting out together again after Stanford, Sam had been more than willing to risk himself for a case. The Bloody Mary hunt was a prime example. Apparently, Dean wasn't the only one that wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.

Mrs. Tran gathered her purse and she and Kevin followed Castiel to the door. Dean watched them go with a sinking sensation in his gut. Of all of them, Castiel was best able to protect them from whatever came, but he would have preferred to be the one going with them, in control of the situation.

As the door closed behind them, he turned to Sam. "We need to talk."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Really, Dean, don't you think we've spoken enough already?"

Dean bristled at his brother's apparent nonchalance. "What the hell was all that about?" he demanded. "One minute you're telling me you're sticking around till I'm ready and the next you're signing up to spy on Metatron! How do those two things work together?"

Sam sighed. "I meant what I said; I'll stay as long as I need to, but if I can be useful, I'll do that, too."

"You'll stay as long as you need to?" a snide voice asked. "Even knowing what it will cost you?"

Their gaze snapped to the stairs where a familiar figure was standing.

Metatron.

He was smiling smugly and carrying a shotgun that Dean would have bet the Impala was loaded with rock salt.

"Sam! Go!" he shouted.

Sam flickered, and for a second, Dean believed he had actually listened to him for once in his life, but then Sam reappeared at the top of the stairs beside Metatron. His hands were clawed and outstretched, as if he wanted to rip the skin from Metatron's face.

Metatron laughed sardonically. "Really, Winchester, you think you can hurt me?"

Sam sure as hell tried. His fingers curled around Metatron's throat, but instead of making contact, they moved right though his as if he was made of smoke.

"I'm an angel, you mouth-breathing halfwit," the angel sneered. "You can't touch me unless I let you. Like this…" He shoved Sam back with a hand at his chest and raised the shotgun. "I don't know if this will hurt you, but I sure hope it does." He pulled the trigger and the salt shot through Sam. He had all of a split-second to look at Dean with horror before he dispersed.

"You asshole!" Dean spat.

Metatron rolled his eyes and sauntered down the stairs. Dean felt useless without a weapon, but the angel blades were in the trunk of the Impala. He reached for the ornamental sword on the shelf and gripped it tight. It wouldn't kill Metatron, but it made Dean feel a little better not to be completely unarmed.

Metatron paused at the foot of the stairs and clutched a hand at his throat. "Oh no! He has a sword!" He laughed. "I am afraid for my life." Spreading his arms at his sides, he froze. "Please, don't hurt me."

Dean was incensed. The arrogant little pissant was mocking him. All thoughts of taking a knee for this fight deserted him and he gritted his teeth. He was going to kill Metatron or die trying. Maybe he and Sam would end the day as ghosts together. It was worth the risk.

Still clutching the shotgun in his hands, he slowly moved forward. "I admit I was surprised to hear you were back among the mortals, Dean. I had hoped the last one would be a death that stuck. I should have known your ignoramus of a brother and mine would find a way to save you. But it's okay. I learned to deal and see the positives in the situation. I get to kill you all over again now."

"You can try," Dean said.

Suddenly, Sam appeared behind Metatron. He took in the shotgun aimed at the floor and Dean with the sword in his hand, and he looked devastated. Dean understood. He could do nothing to defend or fight. He was frozen there as a spectator.

Metatron tilted his head to the side. "We're not alone."

Dean tried to communicate with Sam, to make him go before Metatron could act, but Sam either couldn't or wouldn't obey before Metatron spun on his heel and emptied another round into Sam.

"I hate eavesdroppers," he said conversationally.

Dean scoffed. "That's rich, coming from an angel."

Metatron shrugged. "Maybe. I could defend myself, but I only have so much time. There are things I need to tell you, Dean, things you need to know." As he spoke he reloaded the shotgun, this time with pellets.

Dean was going to die.

He could have run, or at least tried to. It wouldn't save him. Metatron would shoot him regardless, but it would have been a coward's death, shot in the back. Dean didn't have much in the world outside of his family that meant anything, but his name was one of those things. Winchesters were not cowards. He stood his ground.

"Sam will be back soon," Metatron said. "And there are things I want you to know before the end. Sam… he said he'll stay with you till you can let him go, right?" When Dean didn't acknowledge his question, he went on. "That's very sweet, and Winchester, and all that guff, but it's also impossible. You see, Dean, I am going to end you today, and Sam will have no one to hang on for. He can't go anywhere, of course. He will be trapped here with nothing but his anger to sustain him." He sighed happily, as if savoring the moment. "Your brother is going to be so dark and twisted by that anger that he is going to lose himself. He will become something that needs to be hunted. I just thought you ought to know, to see what's coming for him before you go." He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, drawing a deep breath through his nose. "I think Sam will be back soon, which means it's time to move on."

He brought up the shotgun and wavered the aim between Dean's gut and face. "Decision, decisions," he said in a musing tone. "Eenie, meenie, miney, moe…"

Metatron pulled the trigger seemingly automatically. Time slowed. Dean saw the recoil on the gun and the look of satisfaction in Metatron's eyes clearly before the pain hit. He had been lucky in a way. The shot had gone low, into his gut, so it wouldn't kill him instantly. He would feel every moment of pain as the life bled out of him and he slowly poisoned himself.

He fell almost gracefully to the floor. His hands came up to clutch at the wound and were immediately slicked with blood.

Metatron grinned as he crouched beside Dean.

"Is it painful?" he asked. "I've read a lot of stories and in them it always seems peaceful to die. I hope it hurts. The last thing I want you to have is peace."

Dean's bloody hand came up to grasp the amulet. He wanted to have some feeling of connection to his brother as he slipped away.

"Oh no you don't," Metatron said. He smacked Dean's hand away and yanked the amulet. The cord broke and Metatron stood, clutching it in his hand. "This has to be what Sam is tethered to. Am I right?"

"Fuck you," Dean rasped, mourning the loss of the amulet more than his own impending demise.

"That was rude." Metatron lifted a booted foot and pressed it down over Dean's wounded gut. The pain was exquisite, and he fought back a scream. "I hope the last time you said goodbye to your brother was meaningful, because you won't get that chance again. You will be a ghost, too, Dean, but I can promise you will never see him again. I will make sure of it. I control Sam now, and I will take him to the last place you think to look."

Dean looked up at the angel, hoping his loathing was clear in his eyes.

"Goodbye, Dean," Metatron said cheerfully. "I won't be seeing you again."

He disappeared with a faint fluttering sound, and Dean was left alone, dying on the floor.

* * *

**So… Remember that ass kicking line you were all standing in, it's been upgraded to a kill-the-writer-that-ends-a-chapter-**_**there**_** line. Take a number, you'll all get a chance. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**

***creates bunker out of the corpses of all the fictional characters I have ever killed and hides behind it***


	11. Chapter 11

**Happy Croatoan Day, lovely readers. I figured, since I'm spending the day waiting for the zombies to arrive, I should get this chapter ready and posted for you, 'cause none of us know if we'll make it to tomorrow.**

**Enjoy…**

* * *

_**Chapter Eleven**_

Castiel was impatient. He had a bad feeling that had crept over him the moment they arrived at the Bed and Breakfast where Kevin and his mother were staying. He wanted to be back at the bunker where there was a measure of protection for his friends, but they were delayed by Mrs. Tran. She made a business of packing her belongings. Even Kevin was frustrated.

"Mom, just shove it in!" he snapped, picking up an armful of blouses and pants and dropping them into the suitcase. "We've got to get back."

Mrs. Tran stiffened. "Kevin…"

"No, Mom. There's a crazy, homicidal angel coming for us. He's not going to care if your shirt's creased. He's just gonna kill."

Castiel was glad Kevin at least understood the danger they were in. His mother seemed more put out by the inconvenience of being ousted from her temporary home in favor of living in the bunker. She may well be the most frustrating person Castiel had ever encountered, and that was quite a statement bearing in mind the fact he had spent years in the Winchesters' company.

Kevin shoved the last of his mother's belongings into the case and snapped it shut. "Okay, we're done. Let's go."

"I need to settle up with Granny. We haven't paid yet," she said.

"Send her a check!" Castiel snapped.

Mrs. Tran turned her glare on him and he stared back, unconcerned by her ire. He had more pressing concerns that her anger, such as her safety. He grabbed her case and strode from the room, his exit an unspoken command for them to follow.

The desk at the door was unmanned, which Castiel was glad of. If Mrs. Tran had been given the opportunity, she would surely have delayed there, possibly even taking time to compliment the owner on their stay. She really was maddening.

When they got to the car, Castiel snatched the keys out of her hand and threw himself in behind the steering wheel. The bad feeling was back in full force, and he needed to be back at the bunker now.

She huffed and climbed into the passenger side as he gunned the engine. "There's no need to snatch."

Castiel didn't deign to answer. He had learned to follow his instincts in the past, and every instinct was screaming at him that there was something very wrong. Something had happened to Dean and Sam.

He drove with as much care for traffic laws as Dean on his best day, and they were soon pulling up near the bunkers incongruous entrance. Kevin flickered out of the back seat and Castiel knew he'd gone inside to check on Sam and Dean. A moment later, as Castiel was climbing out of the car, he appeared again, looking horrified. "Castiel, quick! It's Dean!"

Castiel threw the door open and raced down the stairs into the bunker. What he saw there stole his breath. Dean was lying on the ground in a pool of smeared blood. His eyes were closed and his skin ashen. The only sign of life was the slow and unsteady sound of his rasping breaths.

"Dean!" Castiel gasped, running to his side and dropping to his knees beside him.

At the sound of Castiel's voice, Dean's eyes opened and roved in their sockets. "Cas?"

"I am here."

Dean swallowed thickly. "He took Sammy," he said in a hoarse whisper.

"Who did?"

"Metatron. He came and took Sam. Shot me."

Castiel bowed his head. "We'll find him."

His hand reached out to lie over Dean's wounded stomach, but Dean caught his wrist. "Your grace. You haven't enough."

"I have enough for this," Castiel said, almost telling the truth. He had perhaps almost enough to heal Dean, but that would be all. He had to do it though. He could not let Dean die. He had failed the Winchesters many times before; he would not fail them again. He searched deep within himself for the grace and focused it on his hand. White light spilled from his palm and he lowered it over Dean's wounds. He could feel the skin knitting together under his touch, the flesh and muscle mending. Then he felt nothing for a moment, nothing but darkness as he fell back.

He had known it would come to this from the moment he took the borrowed grace, it would only last so long and there would be consequences when it burned out, but he imagined that consequence would be death. Metatron had led him to believe it would be death. This was not death though. It was life.

He heard someone shouting his name, and a hand on his shoulder shaking him, but he couldn't respond for a moment. He was a passenger inside his own body as it changed. Blood flowed with purpose and lung expanded gratefully with the air he drew in.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, and there was a sharp pain on his cheek as someone struck him. His eyes opened and he looked up into Dean's face, taut with worry. "Shit, Cas," Dean breathed. "I thought you were a goner."

Castiel eased himself to a sitting position, feeling the aches and pains of his back where he had been lying on the hard floor. Kevin and Mrs. Tran were standing behind Dean, and they looked concerned and more than a little stunned.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"My grace burned out," Castiel said.

"Thought that was supposed to kill you."

Castiel nodded. "So did I. I am very surprised."

"But, you're human, right?"

Castiel nodded, rubbing a hand over his aching chest.

"Well, shit," Kevin said, ignoring his mother's furious look.

He eased himself to his feet and took in Dean's appearance. He was bloodied and a little pale from blood loss, but he was essentially well. If there was a good reason to lose the last of his grace and become human again, it was to save family, Castiel thought.

"Metatron has Sam?" he asked.

Dean nodded and raked a hand over his face. "He took the amulet. I don't know where he's gone. He said he was taking Sam to the last place we would think to look."

"We must find him."

"Ya think I don't know that!" Dean snapped. "Cas, it's my brother. I know better than anyone what we need to do."

Castiel did not take Dean's anger personally. He knew Dean was suffering with the guilt of what had happened. No matter how faultless he was, he would blame himself for anything that happened to his brother. His mind turned instead to their immediate problem, Sam. Metatron said he would take them to the last place they would think to look, which meant they had to start with unlikely places first. Unfortunately, Castiel had no ideas, unlikely or otherwise.

He turned to Kevin. "You can search the veil."

Dean nodded eagerly. "You have to! If Metatron's with him, he'll be in the veil. Sam won't want to be near him."

Castiel thought it was also likely that Sam would be searching the veil for Kevin.

"I'll find him, Dean," Kevin vowed and flickered into nothing.

* * *

The veil was chaos. It might once have been a place of peace and passage, but now there were too many people crammed in. It was like being inside a football stadium with the pitch as packed as the stalls, but bigger, so much bigger. The hum of noise hit Kevin first, countless people whispering to each other, searching for knowledge and comfort. He took a moment to acclimatize himself to being there again, before starting his search.

He could have moved through the people, searching every face for Sam, but it would take forever and there was no guarantee Sam wasn't already doing the same for him. They would miss each other. Instead, he remained in place and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Sam Winchester! Does anyone know Sam Winchester?"

There was an answering hum but no one called out to Kevin with Sam's name or voice. Kevin cursed. He could be here forever searching. Despite knowing he could miss Sam, he started to move, shouting Sam's name as he went.

He remembered his first time in the veil. He had been scared and desperate, and the voices had comforted him and reassured him. It wasn't until later, he didn't know how much later as time was hard to track in the veil, that he had the idea to search for his mother there. He had moved among the people, shouting his mother's name. There hadn't been much hope at first, but one 'day' a voice had answered him with the words that had changed everything for him. "I know Linda." He hoped desperately that a voice would respond now with the same answer.

Hands plucked at him as he passed, seeking comfort or information, but none of them spoke Sam's name, so he didn't stop. He continued on, shouting Sam's name, until he _finally _heard a voice respond.

"You looking for Sam Winchester?"

Kevin spun on his heel and faced the man. He was taller that Kevin, and heavy-set, with a grubby baseball cap on his head. If Kevin had ever had the chance to know him, he would have noticed the similarities in the man to Bobby Singer. They both shared the hardened look of hunters—not to mention the headgear.

"Have you seen him?" Kevin asked.

The man shook his head. "No. I heard he died, and I've been keeping an eye out for him, but there's been no sign until a little while ago."

"I thought you hadn't seen him."

"I haven't but I heard him. I tried to get to him, but something grabbed him before I could."

"Something grabbed him?" Kevin asked.

"Yeah, don't know what, I didn't see, but word is he was yanked out of the veil."

"Okay, thanks…"

"Irv," the man supplied. "Name's Irv. And don't go running off yet. I can help you."

Kevin nodded gratefully. Any help would be good. "What was he saying?" he asked.

"Something about someone called Metatron and a hotel. It got pretty confusing. You know what it's like here; everything works like a game of telephone. I got Metatron, hotel, ice-bath and Grand Canyon, but the rest didn't come through clear enough for me to get an ear on it. That mean anything to you?"

Kevin shook his head. "Not to me, but I know someone that might know. I've got to go."

"Okay," Irv said. "I'll keep an ear out for anything else."

"Thanks," Kevin said quickly. He was about to go back into the world again when an idea caught him. "Irv, if you see him, tell him Dean's okay."

That said, he focused his mind and forced himself back into the mortal world.

* * *

Kevin had been gone too long. Dean was at his wit's end and scared to boot. He was in half a mind to snag the ring out of Mrs. Tran's purse and summon the little nerd back to answer some questions. Only the thought that the more time Kevin spent with them, the less time he would be searching for Sam stopped him.

At first, Castiel had tried to reassure him that Sam would be okay, but after a couple pointed glares and a final "Shut the fuck up, Cas!" he quit trying. Sam would maybe be okay. He had a point; he couldn't get more dead, but he could be banished to the veil forever. Dean might have seen him for the last time. Sam probably thought Dean was dead now. Metatron would definitely make sure to tell him that he'd left Dean bleeding out on the floor. Maybe he was in the veil now, looking for Dean…

"Kevin!"

Dean's gaze snapped up from the floor at Mrs. Tran's squawk. Kevin was standing beside her.

"Well?" he snapped. "Did you see him?"

"No, but I met someone that heard him. A guy named Irv. He said Sam was in the veil and shouting, but it didn't make a lot of sense."

Dean tapped his foot impatiently and gestured for Kevin to go on.

"He said something about Metatron, and Ice-bath, a hotel and the Grand Canyon."

Dean repeated the words in his mind, mulling them over, and then the answer came to him. It was so obvious he was annoyed that it had taken this to make him see. Metatron had said he would take Sam to the last place he would look. The last place was the most obvious place: Metatron's hidey-hole hotel in Colorado.

"Kevin, you rock," he said, making for the garage. He moved at a jog and didn't realize he was being followed until he got to the car and saw Castiel hurrying after him.

"Cas, no," he said. "You can't come."

"Why not?"

"Because you're human now. You could get hurt."

A mulish look of defiance came over Castiel's face. "So could you."

Dean bit back a groan. "Yeah, but Sam's my brother."

"And Sam's my friend. You are at equal risk to me, if not more. Metatron has already killed you once, and he attempted to kill you a second time just today. I am coming Dean."

Dean didn't have time to argue. It was a long drive to Colorado and every minute he delayed was another minute Sam was alone with Metatron. Besides, Castiel had a point. He had as much to lose as Dean in this. He had earned the right to come along.

He nodded and climbed in the car. Castiel slid in beside him and folded his hands on his lap as he waited for Dean to start the engine.

"You might want to try and get some sleep," Dean said. "It's a long drive and we've got to be on top of our game when we get there."

Castiel cleared his throat. "Dean, how are we going to get Sam away from Metatron?"

Dean grinned evilly. "We're going to kill the dick."

Castiel nodded his satisfaction. "Good."

* * *

**So… Dean's alive and Castiel's human. I think I deserve kudos for not ending this chapter with an evil cliffhanger ending, what do you think?**

**Assuming I survive the zombie apocalypse, next week's update — which is incidentally the last full chapter — will come early or later as I am going away for a few days. I will do my best to make it early but things happen. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


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